


So It Goes

by PrincessDystopia



Series: So It Goes [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fanfiction, Jealousy, Love, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Psychological Trauma, Trust, Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDystopia/pseuds/PrincessDystopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't supposed to happen. Save the one you love, you die, they move on, right? Wrong. </p>
<p>By a miraculous twist of fate, Harper Minster has survived her seemingly heroic deed only to be cast into the fray once more. She struggles to gain control of her life once more, convince the only man she's loved that she isn't leaving ever again, and make it through the day without a bullet in her head or a walker bite putting an end to her days.</p>
<p>Daryl Dixon has lost everything: his brother, his home, and the only person who has ever made him feel whole. Or, so he thinks. When Harper shows up right in front of his eyes after three months and the group is thrown into move trails, he begins to question his sanity, her loyalties, and more importantly, if anything could ever be the same again.</p>
<p>Sequel to My Saving Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Pictures

_"Harper!"_

The sound of my name coming from an unknown source tears me away from my reflection. I feel as though I've been staring at myself for years in the gold bordered mirror that I'm sure once belonged to my grandmother, but as soon as I turn away, I forget what I look like completely.

Adeline sits at our elegant glass dining table that I distinctly remember being told has been passed down through five generations; it certainly looks like something a king would sit at. My sister's slender fingers, nails decorated with pink sparkled acrylic, comb through her yellow locks. From the corner of her eye, she watches me as I sit across from her. "Ready to get that car fixed up for you?" she inquires in a disinterested manner. She seems too busy staring at herself through the plastic hand mirror propped up against a stack of books on the surface of the table.

"I think so," I meekly reply. A gnawing feeling of anxiety swells inside me. I've been feeling this way for hours, but it had just felt nothing more than an annoying stomachache. Now, not even Finnegan's joyous laughter from somewhere down the hallway to my left calms me. "I just don't think I'm ready to drive yet."

_"Harper!"_

Adeline's glossy lips curl into an intimidating smirk as her eyes lift to meet mine. I suddenly feel so small and unimportant. "Don't worry," she assures me. "After we finish with the oil change, that baby will be more than ready for Hellhound Harper."

Ignoring the sharp pain in my head that hits me quick like a snakebite, I scan the room. I know I've been here so many times, but something seems off and I can't place my finger on it. High above us, a dazzling silver chandelier hangs beautifully. The tiny lights, clustered together by the hundreds, illuminates the array of pictures that Mom arranges differently nearly every week. The grinning faces that belong to Aunt Michelle and Uncle Robert, Finnegan and Audrey, my parents, and Adeline and myself each seem to fix their frozen stares on me. I almost expect them to start speaking until I remind myself that they're just pictures, only pictures. I tear my demanding stare from my family and turn to the monstrous window behind my sister.

The Georgia heat has called out the other children of the neighborhood. I hear the front door slam and suddenly, Finnegan's tiny body, trembling with energy, is running around with the others outside. They kick around a battered and beaten soccer ball and shove each other in fits of laughter. A motorcycle drives past and Finnegan is the first to wave his hand frantically in the air. A helmet covers the driver's head, so I can't see who they are, but everything seems to move in slow motion for a moment. They turn their visor toward the house, through the window, and directly at me. Another pain stings my head.

_"Harper!"_

"Maybe Daryl will be at the shop this time," Adeline chimes in teasingly as she lifts herself from the chair, though her voice sounds very far away. Somewhere during my silent interaction with the motorcyclist, I'd forgotten that she was even here. "How long has it been since you've talked to him?"

I rack my brain for an answer as I stand to my feet. "You know," I mumble, watching her twirl a set of keys around her pointer finger, "now that you mention it, I can't even remember."

o-o-o

My eyes look tired. Almost like I've never slept a day in my life. From the drivers seat, Adeline scolds me for staring in the mirror for too long, but I can't help it. Something about the way my pupils are constantly dilated intrigues me. Finally, she reaches over and flips the sun visor upward. I don't snap at her like I should. Instead, I sigh in relief. It felt as if I'd been trapped in my own gaze.

There's quite a bit of traffic today and it takes us an extremely long while to get from one stoplight to the next. I'm fine with this because part of me knows that Daryl will be at the car shop and that same part of me is nervous to all hell to see him. I try to picture him in my mind, but all that I can come up with is a set of piercing eyes that remind me of a cloudless sky during the summer. When I ask my sister about him, she ignores me and turns up the radio.

_"And I wonder, when I sing along with you, if everything could ever be this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again."_

"I know this song," I inform Adeline, pointing to the music panel between us. I wait for the digital screen to display the song name, but it seems to be off, even though the music continues to play all around us.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sharp scoff. "You don't even like this kind of music," she reminds me, a hint of disgust apparent in her voice. Deep down, I know she's right, but this particular song lights a fire inside me. I resist the urge to turn it up and sing it at the top of my lungs.

I cast my attention back out the window. We're stopped behind another motorcycle. The driver stares forward, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I lean forward slightly, trying to see their reflection through their tiny side window, but the vest they're wearing catches my attention before I can make out any notable features of their face. Dual angel wings decorate the faded black leather, which is caked with dirt and cracked in random spots. My eyes lock on the driver's head as they turn to look at something to their right. I follow their stare and meet the eyes of an African-American woman, sporting beautiful dreadlocks and a gentle smile, standing on the side of the road. Yet again, a pain flashes inside my skull.

_"Harper!"_

"What?" I ask Adeline, rubbing the spot where the pain has already disappeared. She seems lost in her own world, as well; her mouth is hanging open slightly and her eyes have a strange sort of glaze lingering over them. The light finally turns green and she presses the gas pedal with her foot, leaving the woman far behind us.

"I didn't say anything," she deadpans. I decide to drop the matter of accusing her that she did say my name. It sounded just like her, but then again, it seemed so far away that it couldn't have come from the car.

_"The only thing I'll ever ask of you. You've got to promise not to stop when I say when,"_ the song plays, finally coming to an end. While I'm grateful that its over because apparently I don't like it, the silence leaves an awful feeling of dread and emptiness inside me. I feel as though I'm forgetting to do something important because I can't remember what it is.

After what feels like years, Adeline finally pulls into a car shop. The yard is littered with different sizes of tires, engines, and rusted metal doors. I can immediately smell the grease and gasoline as she comes to a stop and I step outside the car. In front of me is a large, rundown wooden building complete with beer bottles littered inside the cracked windows, a motorcycle parked near the entrance, and an overhead sign that reads "Dixon Autos." I approach the small set of stairs leading to the porch. A circular plastic table stood between two lawn chairs. Near the legs, a tin coffee can has been knocked over, spewing cigarette ashes about.

"Well, if it ain't my two favorite pretty ladies," a gruff voice from behind me says. I turn and watch Merle, whose name pops into my head the second I see his face, approach my sister. She grins widely and wraps her arms around his neck in a tight hug that he returns without hesitation. "What can I do fer ya today?"

_"Harper!"_

Whoever is calling my name is inside the building, so I take this moment that Merle and Adeline are too busy talking about the oil change to slip into the building, cringing as the door squeaks shut behind me. My eyes immediately water as an intense smell of something rotting fills my nose. I lift the collar of my shirt over my face and press on further into the room. There isn't much light even though windows are scattered about graciously. Cigarette smoke lingers about like a heavy fog. Somewhere near the back, past all the clutter of stacks of papers, beer cans, and broken car parts, a shuffling noise catches my attention.

Stepping over all the trash as carefully as I can, I make my way toward the sound. I only get a few feet further before something stops me. Or rather, someone.

"Harper."

My body whips around, seemingly acting on its own, sending one final surge of pain through my head. The eyes I pictures before are suddenly matched with a face, a body, and a voice. Daryl stands in front of me, the light from the window behind him creating a shadow that swallows me whole. I expect him to look angry for some reason, but he only watches me with a curious glint in his eyes. "Daryl?" I say, but nothing comes from my mouth.

"What are ya doin' here?" he questions me as if he's surprised to see me. Maybe he is, I'm not sure. After all, I can't even remember the last time I spoke to the guy.

I lift my shoulders in a small shrug. "Oil change, I guess," I reply. My mouth is only forming the words, not releasing them, but he understands me perfectly.

His eyes lift from my face and lock onto the shuffling noise that happens again. It sounds as if a box has been knocked over. I start to turn away from Daryl to inspect whatever is going on back there, but once again, the sound of his voice stops me short. "Don't go," he whispers.

"What?" I mouth because I'm not sure if I even heard him right.

He juts his chin toward the direction of the noise and shakes his head so slightly that I'm wondering if he's even doing it at all. "Don't leave again," he pleads.

Something inside me begins to tear. I know I have to, absolutely have to see what is going on in the back of the room, but I can't find it in me to leave Daryl's side. Its as if his shadow that I'm standing in is gluing my feet to the floor. "What's back there?" I demand to know, lifting a trembling finger behind me.

Daryl doesn't answer my question. Instead, he turns his back to me and my eyes settle on the winged vest. I can't remember where I saw it last. "C'mon," I hear him say. "We'll start over." My foot lifts to run after him.

_"Harper!"_

I'm frozen again. The voice, calling my name desperately, is right behind me, breathing in my ear. Daryl watches, his hand extended toward me, waiting for me to decide if I'll turn around or if I'll join him. The heavy breathing at my back turns into a low, guttural groan that strikes an odd sort of painful fear into my heart. I can't put my finger on the last time I've been this terrified.

"Harper, please," Daryl mumbles, "don't leave me again."

The invisible chains that have been binding my body suddenly disappear. I turn my head and lock eyes with this creature behind me. Letting out a horrified yelp, I stumble back and trip onto my butt. My body lands hard against the concrete floor, but I'm too focused on this...thing twitching in front of me to realize that I could've very well shattered my shoulder.

Whatever this is was once a young woman. Something about her is so familiar that I feel like I could tell her life story if I had to. By her height, she must've been in her mid-twenties. Frayed wavy blonde hair falls down her back like a golden waterfall ravaged by radioactive water. Her clothes, ripped and worn, are nothing but a simple jacket and yoga pants. The skin on her face has decayed to the point of showing the yellow and brown bones that lie underneath. Most of her teeth are missing and her right eye has a glossed over white color. The left is a soft cerulean. She growls viciously and leans over, her bloodied and blackened nails ripping for me. I let out an ear-piercing scream, but just before she touches me, an arrow slides through her skull. She falls limp beside me.

Trying to ignore the growing pain in my arm, I shuffle over to look back at Daryl. His back is facing me and he's heading for the door to join Merle and Adeline.

"Daryl, where are you going?" I ask, my voice coming out as a panicked screech. "Daryl?!"

He doesn't acknowledge me at all. His hand grips for the rusted doorknob.

"Daryl, please don't go!"

No response.

"DARYL! DON'T LEAVE ME! _PLEASE!_ "

And he's gone.

o-o-o

"She's awake..."

"Beth, go get Dawn!"

"No! We can't tell her yet!"

My eyes crack open slowly. Everything about me is a blurred picture of differently colors and shapes. In a second, my hand is grabbing for my arm. A searing ache is spreading throughout my body and I pathetically try to hit away whatever is causing it. A set of hands hold down my wrists to the bed I'm lying on.

"Harper, stop! We're giving you something for the pain!"

I know the voice all too well. Beth, standing at my side with a syringe full of clear liquid in her hand, watches me in waiting, her own breathing escaping her nose in short bursts. She looks as scared as I feel. I turn my head toward the young African-American boy holding me in place. His dark eyes are locked on Beth as if questioning her motives. "Okay, okay," I breathe, allowing my body to relax as best I can.

Beth presses the needle to my arm and pushes the liquid into my bloodstream. In only a few seconds, the pain has disappeared. I let out a long sigh of relief and glance around the room. Different machines are placed around haphazardly, each of them hooked to my body with cords. The boy reaches over and locks the door just behind him while Beth takes a seat on one of the ripped stools. Gently, she wraps both her hands around my left one and forces an apologetic smile.

"I'm sure you have a few questions," she offers.

"A couple, I think," I answer.

Nodding her head slowly, she tells me, "I guess I'll start with the obvious. Harper, you've been in a coma for three months, we're at the Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, and yes, Daryl is still alive."


	2. Regaining Control

I try to force myself back to sleep, back to the world that was almost perfect. Beth's information about the Governor, the prison-wide sickness, and how many lives were lost is too much for me to handle. I want to die, but the three words she tells me over and over again are my light in the middle of the darkness.

“Daryl is alive.”

The day after I wake up is absolute torture. Beth had explained to me that Dawn, the leader of the group that has settled inside Grady Memorial Hospital, doesn't know we're familiar with each other and it would be in our best interest to pretend that's true. I don't understand why, but then again, I don't understand anything that's happening around me. I watch Beth sweep the floor obsessively around my bed as we wait. Apparently, Dr. Edwards is coming to check on me for the fourth time today, per Dawn's instructions.

I met Dawn once only hours after I'd woken up. She had greeted me like I was a celebrity and she was my number one fan. When I had tried to stand on my feet, she wasted no time placing her hands on my shoulders to urge me back into the hospital bed I'd been lying in for the past three months. “There is no rush to start moving around,” she'd told me, the most gentle smile growing on her face. “Just take it easy and we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Deep down, something told me that I knew her as I did as she said and leaned back against the soft mattress. I just couldn't place my finger on how I did.

“We thought he was going to kill himself,” Beth tells me in a whisper that is just loud enough for me to hear. She has a cast covering her right wrist and a cut just below her left eye that seems to have been stitched together again recently. “Daryl, I mean.” Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she exhales sharply. “At first, he just didn't eat for days at a time. We would leave food outside his cell every day and he'd never touch it. Then, Rick found him outside the gates at the prison, without any weapons, just waiting for walkers. He had to wrestle with him to get him back inside.

I can feel my lip trembling, but I'm fighting back the tears. Beth is hiding it, too; her eyes are glossy and she hurries to turn her back to me. More than anything, I want her to crawl in the bed with me and block out the world that I don't know anymore. She's the only thing I have now that's left of my “normal” life and pretending that I don't know her in front of other people is hell. Although, the only other people I'd encountered was Dawn, Noah; a friend that Beth had made during her time here, and Dr. Edwards.

“Daryl and I – we were together after the prison was attacked,” Beth continues, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. “He loved you so much, Harper. So much. God, I just...I just picture Maggie and Glenn when I think about the things Daryl said to me.”

“What'd he tell you?” I mumble. The lump in my throat strains my voice. I sound like an 80-year-old woman.

After another heavy exhale, Beth says, “He said he thought that was it. You and him...He thought that was it forever, and he was--”

The creaking sound of the door opening silences her in an instant. Dr. Edwards, a man in his late thirties with a receding hairline and thick glasses, peeks around the edge of the door before letting himself all the way in. He holds a cracked clipboard between his hands, held together by a piece of duct tape. After taking a glance at his watch, he looks at me. “Good afternoon, Harper,” he says softly, his feet stopping at the end of my bed. “Has the pain gone away any? I can give you some more morphine if you need it.”

I take a moment to look sideways at the IV tube sticking from my arm. Since waking up, I've only needed morphine once. It had felt like my head was on fire and I didn't know I had so much scream in me. “I think I'm okay,” I tell Dr. Edwards. He genuinely seems nice, but Beth is awkward around him. She doesn't leave the two of us alone, but she moves her robotic sweeping motion toward the hallway behind him.

“Do you want to try to walk?” Dr. Edwards questions as he pulls up a stool and sits on it. He presses a cold stethoscope to my chest, my lower abdomen, and leans me forward to listen to my lungs through my back as I take deep breaths in and out.

“Is that even a good idea?” I reply probably a bit too rudely than I mean. I don't _want_ to be hostile toward these people, but I don't know anything about them. Other than Beth, everyone is a stranger to me. I'm still on the fence about Dawn. “I mean, I just woke up yesterday morning.”

“Your vitals have been excellent,” he informs me without lifting his head. He's writing something down on his clipboard, but his handwriting is too messy for me to read. “You don't have to, but it may be a good idea to get some circulation going in your legs.”

I ultimately decide against it because I know if I try, he'll stick to me like glue. With the exception of Beth, I don't want to be around anyone right now. Not even Noah, who seems like a pretty decent kid. “I think I'll stay in the bed for one more day and try tomorrow,” I say quietly. From outside the room, Beth looks pleased.

Dr. Edwards nods and tells me to let Beth know if I need anything before leaving. As he passes her, he whispers something in her ear and she glances back at me. Something in her face changes from anger to confusion. The entire time I watch her, which feels like four hours, my stomach churns painfully. His voice is too low to pick up on any words and even though I'm certain that Beth will tell me what he's saying once he's gone, I still want to know right now what he's telling her. From her expression, I can't decide if what he's saying is good or bad.

Once he leaves, Beth waits for him to walk down the hallway before retreating back into the room and closing the door behind her. “Have you ever met Dawn before?” she asks as she sits in the stool and wheels her way to my bedside. “Before this place, I mean.”

What a strange question. “No,” I answer. I can feel another headache coming on and now I wish I had taken Dr. Edwards up on that morphine offer. “Not that I can remember, anyway. I'm having a hard time remembering a lot of things though.”

Dr. Edwards had asked me a series of questions when I'd first woken up. Did I have any family? Yes, but I'm the only one left. What was my sister's name? I could only remember that it had started with an A. Beth reminded me that her name had been Adeline once we were alone. Where did I come from before this? Something about this question alarmed me, so I pretended that I didn't know. My memories are fuzzy, like I'm drowning in an ocean and only remembering when I struggle to come up for air.

“Dawn says she knows you,” Beth tells me as she helps me lean forward to switch out the pillow behind me. I know its my mind playing tricks on me, but for a second, I get a whiff of the prison from her hair as it glides past my nose. “Or, your mother, at least.”

That's really no surprise there. Mom had been an insanely successful CEO of the Walmart corporation before the dead started to walk the streets. People knew her name and by relation, my name as well. She was important and people wanted to know her, to be recognized by her, to practically bend over and lick her shoes so that she'd have to trip over them and make eye contact. Images of fancy dinner parties and random people going in and out of the house flood by mind all at once.

“She died though, didn't she?” Beth continues as she inspects the needle of the IV that's securely lodged into my arm. “I think Dawn thinks she's still alive.”

I take a glance around the room I'm in. It isn't a normal hospital room with windows and flowers at my bedside table with “get well” cards from my friends and family. It resembles more of a larger supply closet than anything else. There's a crack in the ceiling just next to the broken florescent light fixture, an overfilled wastebasket knocked over in the corner, and a dingy spot on the wall to my right that looks as if a shelving unit had once been settled there for years. If I hadn't been put in a normal room, then they must've found room for me, which required extra effort. They could have very well just left me to the walkers.

“I think we need to keep it that way,” I whisper. “Maybe that's why I'm still here and alive, because Dawn thinks my mom is still alive.”

Beth's soft eyes lock with mine and she nods her head so slightly that I doubt she even did it at all. “You're right,” she mutters.

A quiet knock on the door sends a shock of panic through me. I'm not sure why; I know I'm in a relatively safe place. If Beth is calm, or at least appearing to be, then I should be too. Only when Dawn's head pokes around the door as she opens it do I release the metal bars on the bed that I'd gripped onto without realizing it. Wordlessly, she throws Beth an odd look. The young girl hesitantly grabs for the broom and shimmies her way around Dawn, who shuts the door immediately. She takes Beth's place on the stool.

For a long time, she just stares at me. I'm don't know how to act or what to say, so I just stare right back at her until a word finally forces its way through my cracked lips. “What?”

“I see you and Beth are getting acquainted,” Dawn comments. A sparkle lights in her eyes. “I'm surprised you haven't asked how you're still alive.”

This woman is throwing me for a loop, but she has a good point. “Okay, I'll bite,” I respond slowly. “How am I still alive?”

“We were scouting,” she explains as if she's talking to a five-year-old. “O'Donnell and me. I never go out scouting, Harper. I try to stay here because these people need me. But that day, something told me to go. We went further out than what is usual and discovered a warehouse. Our first instinct was to search it for anything we could use here.”

I want to look away from her, but her gaze is so demanding that I feel if I do, she'll lose her mind and attack me. As I am now, I'm in no condition to fend her off. I don't know how stable this woman is or even if she's keeping me around for her own benefit. So, I curl my fingers tightly around the clothing that I'm wearing underneath the blanket and stay quiet.

“We didn't find anything useful,” Dawn continues, a crease forming in the skin between her eyebrows. “But I did find an underground bunker, filled with rotter corpses. For hours, we searched that bunker, looking at every single rotter to see if the clothing was salvageable. Then...then we found you, underneath a pile of them and nearly dead. You have an injury on the back of your head. I guess you can see the answer to your question now.”

It takes me a few seconds to understand, but when it finally does, I start to wonder if I really am dead and this is hell, or if I truly survived. I remember a bolt whizzing past my head, just barely missing my ear, and landing in the head of the walker in front of me. It must've fallen on me, I must've hit my head hard enough to knock myself out, and the rest of the walkers must've been so preoccupied with finding my body underneath their friend that Daryl assumed I was dead and escaped.

“That doesn't explain why I was in a coma for three months,” I state. My headache is worsening now.

Dawn's lips press together tightly. “You were in a medically induced coma,” she mumbles. Her voice gives away the impression that she feels guilty about it, but the smirk that forms tells me otherwise. “We couldn't be too careful. We didn't know how long prior you'd been left that way and if you would turn soon, so we brought you back here as soon as possible and injected you with pantobarbital.”

My head is swirling, the walls feel like they're closing in on me, and part of me wishes I had died. I look away from Dawn just as my eyes haze over with a fresh bout of tears. “Oh,” I say, my voice heavy with a persistent sob. “I-I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep?”

I want Beth back in the room. She's my only sign of comfort until I find someway to get the hell out of this hospital. The fact that these people intentionally put me in this state boils anger inside of me, but I'm still to weak to show it.

“I just have one more question before I leave,” Dawn adds stubbornly, leaning back to cross her arms over her chest.

“Okay.”

“Do you remember me from when you were younger?”

I turn my head to look at her once more, taking in the bags under her eyes, the stray strands of brown hair sticking out every which way from her ponytail, and the tiny cut near the right corner of her mouth. Stress is prominent in her face. I see a lot of my mom in her. “No,” I eventually reply, bringing my gaze back down to the blankets covering me.

Dawn clears her throat. “Your mother and I were very close,” she says harshly. She sounds offended that I don't remember her. “It feels like just last week that she told me that she was going to adopt you. Has she...survived?”

Her voice is beginning to sound like a high-pitched metal screech right in my ear. I want her to leave and never come back. “I don't know,” I lie. “I was separated from her and my sister. My dad didn't make it.”

In understanding, she exhales slowly and stands from the stool. “I'll have Beth bring you some food a little later.” Without another word, she turns her back to me and leaves me to my empty room.

I fall asleep seemingly in no time, but my dreams are nothing but dark rooms filled with the echoes of Adeline's screams and Daryl's pleas for me to get away from the walkers. When I wake with a start, my headache has fortunately disappeared, but I find that Dawn has been staring at me for who knows how long. I don't move as we stare each other down. I even try to keep my breathing as minimal as possible.

“Harper,” she mutters in a hushed tone, “I'm losing control of these people. You're going to help me regain that control.”


	3. Radicals

“What are you talking about?” I demand to know. Dawn advances toward me in eerie twitching motions, almost as if she's on some sort of drug. From what I know of her, I wouldn't doubt that for a second. 

She grasps my hand tightly. Her skin is clammy against mine and although my first reaction is to pull away, her grip is like concrete. “I've known it for months now,” she tells me, her voice harsh and staccato. “The other officers here – their faith in me is starting to break. I'm scared that I'm going to have a rebellion on my hands soon if I don't do something about it.” She pulls her face in closer to mine. “I need you to be my ears.”

If something goes down at the hospital, the last thing I want is to be in the middle of it. Every part of me urges my mouth to start screaming for Beth, but I refuse to do it in front of Dawn. Besides, Beth has an injured arm. What's she going to do? Beat Dawn to death with her cast? I feel my face heating and my teeth tremble together behind my closed lips. Dawn stares me down, waiting for me to say something – anything. Words escape my mind – I don't know what to say to her. 

Then, out of nowhere, I picture Adeline and for the first time since waking up, her face is as clear as day. Long, blonde hair that always seems to curl its way into soft ringlets down her back, almond-shaped eyes hazel eyes that can easily narrow into a ferocious glower, and perfect pink lips that pull over her white teeth in an amiable grin. What would she do in a situation like this? Knowing her, probably tell Dawn where she can shove it, but then again, I don't know Adeline anymore. During our time together after the walkers started popping up, her entire personality had changed. She went from a caring, constantly scolding older sister to someone who our parents used to warn us about, someone who killed without any sign of remorse. 

“You want me to spy?” I finally ask. Thinking back on my sister built up an odd sort of courage inside me – enough to open my mouth, at least. “On _who_?” 

Taking this as a sign of agreement, Dawn releases my hand. A boastful smirk grows on her face. “Mainly Beth, as well as anyone else you come across. I just don't know who I can trust anymore.” 

“And how do you know you can trust me?” I spit. Just the thought of turning against Beth nearly sends me over the edge. She's the only one who has shoved bits and pieces of food into her bra to smuggle to me because apparently, I shouldn't be having sweets of any kind. 

Dawn lets out a content sigh and leaves me with words of familiarity before answering a radio call. “Because of who raised you.”

o-o-o

Before, when I looked at myself in mirrors, I always paid attention to my face, making mental comments about how sunken in my eyes and cheeks were or how tired and worn down I looked. Now, I can't stop staring at my body in the cracked piece of mirror in front of me. I can't remember the last time I've been this skinny and malnourished-looking, if I have ever. My ribs are visible even without having to suck my stomach in. My thighs no longer touch each other, even when my legs are side-by-side. If skin gashes were part of my new look, I'm sure I would be mistaken for a walker.

Beth stands from her kneeling position and offers me an exhausted smile. Strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and bags are forming underneath her eyes. I want to ask how long its been since she last slept, but I decide against it.“Its warm,” she says before holding out her hand. I take it and allow her to guide me into the bathwater Dawn ordered her to prepare for me. As she helps me sit in the water, I can tell she's trying her hardest to not stare at my body. 

“Its okay,” I whisper, hoping my voice won't echo off the walls. Just outside the door a few feet away, Officer Gorman is standing guard. “Its kind of freaking me out, too. The way I look, I mean.” 

Beth fills a plastic cup with water and runs it down my bare back. Goosebumps instantly rise on my legs and arms and my nipples harden. I don't even try to cover my shame in front of the girl. Something tells me that she's seen much worse than a naked body with parts the same as her own. “You'll gain the weight back,” she assures me, running another cupful of water into my hair. “You don't look as bad as you think you do.”

She's probably right; most of my life, I stressed over maintaining a “perfect” body. That meant dieting or not eating at all. After the outbreak, I no longer had the option to watch my weight. Food became scarce after a while and hunger poked its ugly head into my life more often than I ever wanted. I feel like such an ass thinking of how I once was. I'd give anything for a hamburger or five, now that I don't have that option anymore. 

Dawn's words from the day before pop into my mind. Spying on Beth seems so ludicrous. She's my only friend here, the only one who I feel is sincerely looking out for my well being. I know that I can't bring myself to turn against her, but I also know that in the long-run, not listening to what Dawn has told me to do is really going to bite me in the ass. Instead of dwelling on the consequences of my decision, I close my eyes and try to focus on the feel of Beth's fingers through my hair. 

“So,” she mumbles in a tone much too optimistic for anymore talk of my body, “what are you going to say to Daryl when we meet up with the group again?”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I don't think that's going to happen,” I reply. “I mean, how do you know that we'll ever see anyone ever again?”

She shrugs. “I just know. Family always finds each other in the end, don't they? That's how you and I are together now.”

Her words nearly shatter my heart. She's trying so hard to keep some flicker of hope alive inside of me, but I'm not entirely sure if she believes it herself. “Well,” I say, “when I see Daryl again...I don't really know. I'll probably just cry and grab him and not let go.” I force another laugh. “That sounds dumb.” 

“No, it doesn't.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I think when I see Maggie again, I'm going to do the same thing. I'm going to run right up to her and I'm going to apologize for being such a bratty sister all those times, and I'm going to hug her so tight and never let go.” Beth pulls my hair back and runs more water through it. “I'm sure he'll do the same thing.”

“Daryl?”

“Mmhm. He really loved you, Harp.”

I wince slightly as she twists my hair into a tight bun. My scalp seems much more sensitive than before; Adeline used to do worse to my hair and I don't remember it hurting as much as this. I feel Beth stand up behind me. She drapes a towel around my shoulders and helps me up. I can walk fine on my own, but my legs tremble uncontrollably. I don't trust myself enough to attempt it without her. 

After drying and dressing me in silence, Beth motions her head toward the door. “I think he's still there,” she mouths. 

I've yet to have a conversation with Officer Gorman, but there's just something about him that doesn't seem right to me. It could be the fact that every time he walks past my door when its open, he flashes this creepy smile that makes my stomach churn in distress. When Beth leads me out the door, sure as shit, he's standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest. He immediately looks down at us and shows that same grin. 

“Harper, you're looking good,” he compliments, raising his eyebrows in what I'm guessing is an attempt at a seductive manner. 

“Thanks,” I murmur darkly as I cast my gaze back to the floor and shuffle past him. He says something to acknowledge Beth, but her reply is nothing but a low growl that I think only I can hear. Relief rushes to me that I'm not the only one who doesn't like the guy.

On our way back to my room, we pass by Noah. The two make brief eye contact and nod to each other respectfully. I pretend that I don't notice, but when Beth and I are alone, the words fly from my mouth with a mind of their own. “So, you and Noah, hm?” I joke as I sit on the hospital bed that someone has made for me during my bath. I don't want to admit it, but part of me feels like Dawn has ordered everyone to give me extra special treatment. If she's trying to coerce me into being her dog, she has another thing coming. 

“Its not like that,” Beth retorts, double checking that she's locked the door. It doesn't do any good; Dawn has a master key to every room in the hospital. She waits a few moments, listening and waiting for anyone to walk by the door. Then, she turns her determined stare to me. “We're planning on escaping, Noah and I.”

At first, I feel absolutely betrayed, thinking that she's just going to leave me here, but she doesn't hesitate to explain her words. 

“We're going to go find the rest of the group,” she says excitedly. As she speaks, she moves around the tiny room, picking up crumpled pieces of paper and tossing them into the trashcan. “When we do, we're coming back for you and anyone else who wants to leave with us. I know it probably sounds like a bad idea, but right now, you can hardly walk on your own. You'll need a few days to get your strength back.”

Maybe she's nervous, but Beth speaks so quickly that it makes me think that she's intentionally not giving me a chance to ask any questions. Her words make sense, though. If I were to tag along, I'd only drag them down. “You have to promise that you'll come back,” I tell her sternly. Even though I mean it as another joke, she looks at me with an offended expression. 

“I swear I'll come back.” 

Beth holds out her right pinky finger toward me, her lips pursed together tightly. I can't help but crack a tiny smile as I wrap my own finger around hers.

o-o-o

The cafeteria is as close to heaven as I think I'll ever get. As I take a seat on one of the blue plastic chairs, Dr. Edwards brings me a plate of beans, mashed potatoes, and two chocolate chip muffins. My mouth instantly begins to water at the sight of the haphazard food choices, but before I shove it all into my mouth, he stops me by pulling the plate closer to him.

“Slowly,” he orders, his beady eyes narrowing at me over the rim of his glasses. “If you eat too quickly, you'll throw it all up.” 

I take his advice with a grain of salt as I wrap my lips around a large portion of a muffin. He shakes his head and sighs in defeat, writing down something on his clipboard. Probably recording my eating habits, no doubt. I won't be surprised if he writes, “Gorges herself like a rabid wildebeest that hasn't seen food in her entire life.” At this point, I don't care. Five years ago, if you were to have told me I'd be shoving a chocolate muffin down my throat without any regrets, I would've laughed and continued munching on my celery sticks. It melts in my mouth and I resist the urge to let out a moan of satisfaction. 

Dr. Edwards watches me eat for nearly ten minutes before standing to refill my glass of water. Unfortunately, his place is taken by Dawn, who seems eager to talk to me. As she sits next to me, her eyes glisten with curiosity. “How's the food?” she whispers as if she actually cares, her eyes flicking sideways to watch Beth enter the room on the opposite end. 

“Fine,” I mumble through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. They don't taste like anything, but with every bite I swallow, I feel better about how I look. 

“Have you heard anything?” 

There it is – the golden question. I stab my fork into my potatoes and take a very long time swallowing. When the food is finally down, Dr. Edwards returns with my water. Dawn gives him a cold stare, silently telling him to leave the two of us alone. The look of irritation is clear on his face as he turns his back to us and retreats into the hallway. The woman casts her attention back to me, but by the time she does, I'm leisurely sipping on my water until its gone. 

“About what?” I eventually reply and push the empty glass toward the other side of the table. 

“ _Anything_ ,” Dawn hisses, gritting her teeth together at the hard “guh” noise at the end of her word. 

“Oh.” I take another lengthy bite of my potatoes. “Nope, haven't heard anything.”

She doesn't hide the fact that she's disappointed; with a sharp, heavy sigh, she snatches my glass and stands to her feet. “Well, just keep your ears open,” she orders curtly. She turns on her heel and, with a quick glance toward Beth, leaves the cafeteria. I can hear the clanking of the glass outside the metal door as it sways back and forth. 

The more I eat, I find it easier to do basically everything on my own. Walking still leaves me a little lightheaded, but I'm able to manage it for certain periods of time. I wait until most of the cafeteria clears out before grabbing my empty plate and setting it on the counter with a sign duct taped to it that says “DIRTY DISHES HERE.” A black-haired teenage boy behind the counter watches me, mouth slightly open and eyes avoiding my own. Uncomfortably, I offer a crooked smile and rush as best I can from the room. 

The hallways are lined with people who pay no attention to me. As I make my way back toward my own area, I hold onto the wall for support just in case my legs decide to quit working on me. I only make it a few feet when someone grabs my hand from behind me. Turning my head, I stare into the dark eyes of Officer Gorman, who's still wearing that same smile that repulses me to the core. 

“Looks like you could use some help,” he suggests, adding an extra dash of friendliness into his voice. His hand releases mine, leaving a sticky, sweaty feeling about it, and his arm snakes around my shoulder. “Don't worry. You don't have to tell me where your room is. I already know.”

Something about the way he says that makes me want to yank my body away from his and deliver my fist into his face, but my eyes linger on the gun attached at his hip. He wouldn't even need that to put an end to my stunt. All he would have to do is shove me into the wall and that would probably put an end to my life. Instead of creating a scene, I nod slowly, keep my gaze locked on the cracked gray floor in front of us, and utter a small, “Okay.” 

Along the way, Officer Gorman tries to make small talk. He asks me about my life before the outbreak, but I just lie and say most of my memories are fuzzy. Every so often, he makes hints at his curiosity of my love life. “So, what is it, Miss? Ms.? _Mrs._?” he presses. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to rid myself of the words that want to lash out. 

“I was never married,” I admit. A sudden wave of homesickness for the prison and Daryl's cell hits me hard. “At least, not that I remember,” I add hastily. I don't want Officer Gorman to think that some of my memories are coming back. That'll only lead to more personal questions that I have no interest in answering. 

When we arrive at my room, I expect the man to bid me a goodbye and leave. Instead, he enters behind me, closes the door, and locks it. My heart immediately starts to race because suddenly, I know I'm in danger. He reaches to the radio connected to his shirt and with a loud beep, it shuts off. Then, smirking darkly, he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to put on a brave persona. My voice gives me away when it cracks halfway through my question. 

Officer Gorman shrugs as if I should already know that answer. “Can't have anyone watching you while you change, right? I'm standing guard.” 

“So turn around.”

Shaking his head, he pushes his lips together into a thin line and states simply, “I'm good. Go ahead and change, Harper.” Pretending to make it look as though he doesn't realize he's doing it, his arms uncurl from each other and his left hand rests on his gun. “Now.”


	4. Blue And Bare

My mouth goes dry at the severity of his words. Officer Gorman stares me down, his beady eyes locked on my body. He extends his hand – the one that isn't rested on his gun – and lifts his bushy eyebrows. “Well, go on,” he urges me. “I don't have all day.” 

My stomach twists into painful knots. Maybe if I empty its contents onto his chest, he'll change his mind. That, or shoot me in disgust. I turn away from him again, quickly looking my room over for anything I can use as a weapon. The only thing I can think of is a small metal bar attached to the bed. My hopes are immediately diminished; there's no way I can rip it off in time to beat his skull in with it. 

“I get it,” he says, his mouth only inches from my ear. I'm pretty sure I can smell the rancid stench of vodka on his breath. “You're still weak. Let me help you.” 

Gorman's rough hands curl around both my arms, gripping me tight enough that I can't squirm from his grasp. The urge to puke on him rises as he presses his lips to my right shoulder, forcing my legs apart with his own. His right hand leaves my arm and trails down my sides, stopping only momentarily at my hip. My own hands curl into tight fists. I know I need to do something, and fast, but I also know that he can end my life with too much ease. At this point, I'm trembling, but not with fear. Anger boils inside me that I can't defend myself. 

“This isn't so bad, is it?” he purrs against my skin. 

“Please stop,” I whisper pathetically, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in my palms. Glancing downward, I extend my fingers. My fingernails have pierced through my skin, drawing droplets of blood. “I'll tell Dawn.” 

The deep rumble of his laughter against me sends an army of goosebumps up my arms and my legs. “Dawn?” he repeats incredulously. “What's she going to do? She lets me do whatever the fuck I want.”

His words end sharply as his hand leaves my hip and slides between my thighs. My body reacts on its own as I twist around and deliver my fist right into his nose. It staggers him as well as enrages him. Gorman, blood trickling from his nose, pushes me back onto my bed and slaps my face hard. My vision blurs for a moment. When I finally see only one of him, he's too busy ripping my shirt from my chest to realize that the door behind him has opened. A drop of his blood lands on my cheek.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Dawn shrieks, rushing over to us. She clamps her hands on his shoulders and retches him back from me. Gorman tumbles for a moment, having lost his balance, and catches himself on the wall. With the help of Dawn, I sit up on the bed, watching curiously as she stands between the two of us. 

Wiping the blood from his nose, Gorman lifts a finger at me. “You saw that, right?” he breathes, as if he's winded or something. His terrible acting makes me want to scream. “Harper forced herself on me. She was holding me on her!” 

Dawn's head turns slowly toward me. She gives me a look of pure exhaustion, like she's dealt with this too many times. I open my mouth to argue in my defense, but I know there isn't any point to it. If Gorman's words are true, then I'm completely powerless against him as far as Dawn is concerned. My mouth closes slowly and I realize that my bottom lip is cracked. 

“Just get out,” Dawn orders without looking back at her officer, her voice more of a growl than anything else. “You're on lookout duty for the night.” 

Officer Gorman, uniform and face caked with blood, throws me a glower of absolute hatred and leaves Dawn and I alone, slamming the door behind him. I watch the door, waiting for him to storm back in to have the last word, but it remains shut, thankfully. 

“You really don't believe that crap, right?” I murmur desperately. 

Dawn takes a seat next to me on the bed and crosses her ankles over each other. “I don't believe that you're strong enough to take down a man his size,” she answers. I'm not sure why, but her words sting. I bite the inside of my cheek to quell a snarky comment. “Gorman doesn't...know how to take 'no' for an answer.” 

“This has happened before?” I snap, curling my fingers around the mattress. My palms throb with a dull pain. “Why do you let him do that?”

Dawn stays silent for a long while. So long, in fact, that I begin to wonder if she even heard me at all. Just as I inhale to repeat myself, she whispers, “I risk his being here to protect everyone.” She meets my bewildered stare. “Gorman has taken down more rotters than anyone else here. He's protected every single person in this building, including myself. If I – “ she covers her mouth with her hand for a moment, pondering her next words “ – stand between him and what he wants, I'm afraid he'll decide to leave and leave us without protection.”

At first, I'm speechless. So many things boil inside me at once that I stumble on my words when they burst from my lips. “Wh – Are you kidding me? How does that – I can't believe this!” I take a short moment to breathe in slowly, gathering myself before even considering trying to talk again. “You let him walk all over you and the people here just because he _protects_ everyone?” I ask slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“That's right,” she answers curtly. Dawn stands from the bed and makes her way over to the cabinet tucked away in the corner. She walks with a slight limp and I wonder how long she's had that without my noticing. Maybe its new. “What just happened now,” she says, her voice too low for anyone outside of the room to hear, “won't happen again. At least, not with you. I'll be sure of it.” 

My eyes trace her figure up and down, up and down, up and down. The way her eyes flick from the floor near my feet, to back to whatever is interesting on the shelves makes me think she wants to look me in the eye, but something is holding her back. I want to ask why its me getting all the special treatment. I think I already know why: like Dawn said before, “Because of who raised me.” Using this to my advantage makes a ping of guilt hit my gut, but I brush it off. After all, if what Dawn told me is true, than I would be dead now if it weren't for her. 

“Harper, I'm going to confide something in you, but I need you to keep it between us,” Dawn mutters, her slender fingers gliding up a bottle of disinfectant. “Do you understand?” I nod, but she doesn't see it. “If anything happens to me, I want you to take my place as the leader of this hospital.” 

I nearly choke on my own spit when I inhale. “I'm sorry, what?” I respond in disbelief. “Look, I wasn't planning on staying very long. I mean, when Beth and Noah got ba--” 

I stop myself short, fearful that I've already given away too much information. From the look on Dawn's face as she turns to face me, I can tell I have. Her lips press hard together, turning them ghostly white and making it seem as though they aren't there to begin with. She advances toward me slowly, grabs the metal rail, and sits on the opposite side of the bed, never taking her eyes off me for a second. “What were you going to say?” she demands to know, her voice laced with ire and cyanide. 

“Noth--”

She grabs my arm hard enough to make me let out some sort of squeaking gasp of surprise and pain. “Harper,” she hisses dangerously, “if you don't finish what you were going to say, I'm going to open that door.” She lifts a finger toward the door that Gorman had stormed out of earlier. “Officer Gorman will come in here, and I'll walk away like nothing ever happened. And I will make sure the door is locked.” 

Something about her tone and the way she's staring me down tells me that she isn't joking, that whatever I have to say is more important than my safety. I want to freeze this moment just so I can have a few more seconds to think. Unfortunately, I can't do that, so I'm stuck between selling out the one person who has my best interests in mind or sacrificing myself. I don't think, I just talk.

“Beth and Noah are planning on escaping the hospital.”

o-o-o

I can't look at Beth. We pass each other in the hall, her on her way to tend to something Dr. Edwards mentioned and me on my way to the roof. I know she cracks a smile at me. I just pretend I don't know her. For all anyone but Dawn knows, I may as well killed her.

When I finally do make it up what feels like a million flights of stairs, I'm gasping for air and clutching my stomach so tightly that for a moment I'm scared I've ripped through my flesh with my fingernails again. I pass the small blooming garden that a few of the hospital residents have started and picture Carol. How had her own garden back at the prison improved before the Governor attacked? Did she finally grow coffee beans, like she promised Griffin? 

I sit on the wooden bench near the edge of the roof, rubbing the gauze taped to my palms. My hands were the first thing Dawn became interested in after I gave away Beth and Noah's plans. It seemed that right after that moment, her protectiveness over me reappeared with intensity. She had shook her head at Gorman when she left the room, earning herself a very dejected and bitter glower from the man. Nonetheless, he acted as though I wasn't there and left me alone. Because of my betrayal to my friend, I've become immune to any harm inside the hospital. 

Adeline was much like this, from what I can remember. At first, everything about her was honorable and I pictured her much like a sturdy shield, casting away anything that could hurt me. She'd even gone as far as putting her own life at risk on more than one occasion. Watching a car far below the building catch fire, I think back to our final moments together when I thought that I would lose Daryl forever. She had done the exact same thing I did: betrayed the people who took her in, fed her, made sure she stayed alive all for her own selfish reasons. 

A terribly sharp pain thrusts its way through my skull and suddenly, my sister is standing right in front of me. Her arms slowly snake around each other against her chest and just below them, a hole bleeds through her shirt. Ever so slowly, she tilts her head to the side, a coy smirk playing on her gray lips. “You've really done it now, haven't you?” she says. Her mouth exudes no sound, but I can hear it echoing around in my head. “Great job, Harper.”

Groaning in deep regret, I bury my face in my padded hands. I want to run and tell Beth to hurry and get out, but Dawn's eye is hovering now, keeping an especially close watch on her and Noah. All because of me. I've become Adeline.

o-o-o

I watch the two from a cracked window on the second floor. The officers whose names I have no interest in learning pin Beth to the ground. She writhes and struggles against their hands, reminding me of myself under Officer Gorman's grasp. My teeth chatter together with silent sobs, but I force myself to remain quiet. Only a few feet behind me, Dawn watches the show from her own perspective.

Beth's shouts, panicked and muffled, slow Noah to a stop near the broken chain link fence that holds off the walkers from the hospital. He takes a moment to look back at her and a strange hope arises in me that he's going to turn around and help her. I find myself smiling, wordlessly cheering for him. That smile, as well as the hope, is immediately diminished when he turns tail and books it. I hang my head, allowing some of the tears to drip onto the linoleum. I can't bring myself to watch as the officers rip Beth from the ground with such force that they could snap her neck in half. 

Behind me, Dawn lets out a content sigh and places a hand on my back that feels like a brick. “Thank you, Harper,” she says. Her tone drips with the sort of proud of a parent watching a child graduate college. “I knew you'd be the right person for this job.” 

I lift my head and watch through my blurred vision as the officers force Beth back into the building. Just before she's led out of view, she looks up and catches my gaze. She's smiling at me as if this isn't my fault. Adeline stands only a few feet behind her.

o-o-o

“I don't know how she knew,” Beth admits. I watch her pace the floor in front of me, eye bruised and scratches rampant on her delicate skin. “It was so perfect. That plan was perfect, Harper.”

I chew on my lip, trying to ignore the pain in my head. I'm beginning to think that I may have a tumor and maybe I should bring it up to Dr. Edwards soon, but knowing him and the rest of the staff in the hospital, he'd lie to me and tell me to shrug it off, that I'm prone to migraines and that I'm under a great deal of stress. If I told him, though, that my should-be-dead sister is showing her face around me now, what would he say? 

“Maybe someone over heard you and Noah talking about it,” I offer, avoiding her stare of realization just after my words. 

“You're right,” she whispers. “We should've been more quiet about it. Damn it!” She kicks the tiny trashcan, causing a flinch from me. Adeline dances in circles in the corner of my eye. 

“Where's he going now?” I ask, trying to ignore my sister's loud humming. Its a song I know, but I can't place my finger on.

“Don't know. I hope to his family. He talked about them quite a bit.” Beth sits next to me and places her hand, scraped and reddened, on my knee. “We'll get out of here, though, you and I. We'll find our own way.” 

Someone shouts her name from down the hall. With an irritated sigh, she forces herself to stand, tells me not to worry, and locks the door as she leaves. Adeline continues to hum, her stomach bleeding profusely. The sticky liquid splatters onto the floor. Looking down at it, she giggles and kicks it about with her blue, bare feet. Then, as if she's suddenly reminded of something, she gasps and stands completely still. 

“Do you hear that?” she whispers, lifting a finger toward the ceiling. I don't hear anything. “Gunshots. You're a murderer.”


	5. Tick-Tock

I sit in Dawn's office, watching a bird-shaped clock tick by in the corner. Five minutes into dwelling in my silence, I realize that I've quietly been whispering to myself, “Tick-tock...tick-tock...tick-tock.” I force my mouth shut and don't let it open again until one of the officers walk in to inspect the blood stain near my feet. 

“Its a shame about Gorman,” she comments halfheartedly. I shift my feet out of the way to give her room to kneel down near the rustic spot on the floor. “When we find out whoever did it, I'm going to thank them personally.” 

My eyes scan over the officer. Guessing from the way her skin looks as though its made of porcelain – without a crack or scratch on it – I can tell that she must've been much like me before the dead started walking; pampered, spoiled, naive. A wild mane of fiery hair is pulled back into a tight bun, but random strands hang down to frame her heart-shaped face. She lifts her head to look up at me and for a moment, my breath hitches in my throat. Baby blue pools meet my stare. I quickly look away from her. 

“Yeah, a real shame,” I add as I stand to my feet. I don't want to be near her or her eyes any longer. “I bet whoever did it is probably trying not to boast about it, though.” If I know Beth as well as I think I do, I know she is trying to keep what she did behind closed doors. 

Even though it only happened a few hours ago, I feel like years have passed since Beth's failed attempt at escaping took place. As the officer in front of me runs a finger along the dried blood, I picture Noah with his family and immediately feel a deep hatred for the kid. How could he have left Beth behind like that? Why didn't he go back and save her? Why didn't he risk his life for her?

“Why did you tell Dawn?” Adeline asks from behind me. It sounds as if her lips are barely touching my ear, but I don't feel anything. “Beth and Noah could've escaped to get help, but you gave them away. You're the reason why--”

“Is it going to come out?” I hurry to ask the officer, cutting off Adeline completely. “The blood, I mean.” Before the officer stands up, I take a quick moment to glance over my shoulder. My sister is gone, but I know her absence is fleeting. 

The officer sighs and, using the help of the desk to her left, pulls herself to her feet. I finally get a glimpse of her name-tag. Officer Maclaurin shrugs, places her hands on her hips, and presses her mouth into a thin line. “Not easily,” she answers. “I'm sure Beth will end up doing it, though. She's on Dawn's shit list now.” 

Maclaurin continues to let loose a rant about how stupid Beth was to try to escape, but I cut her off by saying that I'm feeling dizzy again and I need to go lie down. She seems to believe me and lifts her radio to her mouth to have Beth escorted to the office to clean the stain. Apparently, Beth isn't allowed to go anywhere without someone glued to her hip now. 

Leaving the office, I take a long inhale. Since Beth's attempted escape, the hospital has smelled vaguely of burning hair and a strange taste of metal lingers on my tongue. No matter how much water I swish around in my mouth, I can't rid myself of it. 

Beth's face is the first thing I see when I turn from the door. Down the hall, she walks side-by-side with burly officer, who has a tight grip on her arm. For a moment, the officer's face comes across as a black hole and I realize that they're all starting to look the same. Although she clearly isn't happy with her companion, Beth still manages to crack a smile at me as I approach them. The bottoms of my feet sting as though I'm standing on glass shards. 

“Harper,” the officer greets me with a small nod. From his tone, I can tell that Dawn has already spoken to him about giving me special attitude treatment as a reward for giving Beth and Noah away. 

I return the nod, but realize that just like the one from before, I don't know his name to say anything back. This one isn't sporting a name-tag. Just as he inhales and opens his mouth, the radio attached to his collar crackles to life. Whoever is on the other end sounds muffled through the static, but the officer seems to understand anyway. 

“Give me ten minutes and I'll be there,” he grumbles into the piece of plastic. Lowering the radio's volume, he tugs on Beth's arm. “C'mon, hurry up.” 

Words fly from my mouth before I have the chance to stop myself. “I can take her,” I say. “Dawn's office, right? To clean up the blood?”

The officer gives me an incredulous glower, but pushes Beth my way anyway. She tumbles slightly, but grabs onto my shirt to steady herself. “On my way,” the once again faceless officer spits into the radio before jogging off down the hallway to our left. We stay silent until we hear the loud, echoing bang of a door slamming shut. 

“Kind of weird that he trusts you with me,” Beth comments in a hushed tone, her eyes locked on the door behind me. “Maybe you're just a trustworthy person.”

Her words are so painfully ironic that I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep myself from letting out some sort of sound of distress. Instead, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and guide her from Dawn's office. “Someone else can deal with the blood,” I say, trying to ignore what she'd just told me. “Maybe Dawn can get off her ass and do something for once.” 

For the first time in a long time, Beth lets out a soft giggle and my heart slams against my chest. I look over at her shaking her head, at the gashes above her eye and on her cheek, at the bruise kissing the side of her face. Her eyes meet mine again and I tear my stare away, knowing that I don't have the right to look at my friend anymore. She's no longer my friend; she's a girl who I may have sentenced to her entire life trapped in his hospital under Dawn's thumb. 

“That would be the day,” Beth murmurs as we walk from the office. We wander aimlessly for who knows how long while she babbles on about how she's thinking up another plan to leave. This time, she's including me, now that I'm strong enough to walk on my own without becoming breathless after ten steps. “Do you think you can run?” she questions, peering down at my legs. She knows I've lost a lot of muscle. “I mean, if I have to, I can probably carry you on my back if you have to stop.” 

“I'll be fine,” I tell her. I have no intentions of leaving. Not with her, anyway. I couldn't bear the thought of holding her back again. 

At the end of the connecting hallway we're approaching, the doors fly open. A group of officers followed by Dr. Edwards haul in a stretcher. A woman lies on the squeaking bed. Beth notices the face before I do. Her mouth fills with a sharp breath and her hand clasps around the backside of my shirt. The woman, whose face appears blank like the officers', clicks in my mind. I can suddenly smell a prison common room where everyone is gathered around eating cooked cans of beans and rice. 

“Carol,” Beth whispers behind me, ever so slightly tugging me back. “Its Carol.” 

Every thought that I had about my body getting better and stronger disappears in an instant as Carol's face comes into view. My legs feel as they did the first day I'd tried to walk and my chest tightens around my lungs. Compared to Beth's bruises, Carol looks as though she's been through hell and back at least ten more times than the girl urging me from the stretcher. She looks like she's sleeping and I pray that that is the case. 

Dr. Edwards looks our way just before they wheel Carol into the room they use to inspect new patients they bring in. His eyes narrow, a crease deepens on his forehead, and his mouth pulls into a heavy frown, but he doesn't say anything to us. He rushes into the room and nudges the door shut with his foot. 

“Come on,” Beth says, wrapping her tiny fingers around my arm. “We can't stay here. We'll come back when they're gone.” 

As she leads me back the way we came, I feel like I've drifted off into a dream that I can't wake up from. First Beth, and now Carol. I wonder how many of the others are going to end up in this hellhole with us. Then again, if Carol is here, how close are they? Why are they here, if they're here with her? Where are they? Questions upon questions double in my mind. I'm so lost in trying to find the answers that I don't realize Beth has led me to the roof. 

“When I was little, Daddy got me a pair of binoculars for my birthday,” she tells me as I sit on a wooden bench near the garden. I watch her as she peers over the edge of the building, focusing on a storage truck that smashes through a gate. “I wish would've kept them.”

“Who do you think is driving that?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the reckless truck that soon disappears out of sight. I want her to say the name of anyone we know, just to give me a small ounce of hope. 

Instead, she shrugs and shakes her head. “Probably a walker that just turned.”

o-o-o

It feels as though the room they placed Carol in is always crowded with people asking questions, but after three hours, they finally all leave. I take this chance to slip into examination room 2 and lock the door behind me. As she lies back on the bed, her eyelids fluttering with either dreams or nightmares, her chest rises and falls with her breaths. Relief settles over me that she isn't dead, but I know better than to let myself be optimistic about it. It could change at any moment.

I pull up a stool and sit near the right side of the bed, inspecting all the various types of machines hooked up to her body. I imagine this is how Beth must've felt before I woke up: curious as to how I got here and worried that I would make it through to figure it out. 

Taking Carol's cold, limp hand into mine, I let out a long breath and scour the room for any sign of my sister. Since they brought Carol in the day before, Adeline hasn't shown her face once. Its a nice change of pace, but a strange loneliness is beginning to gnaw away at my gut. Other than Dawn checking in on me as she does every morning, I haven't spoken to another person yet today, and that includes Beth. She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. 

“Please wake up now,” I whisper to Carol, knowing full well that she can't hear me. Talking to her makes me feel at least a tiny bit better, so I don't try to restrain myself. “Please, Carol, if you're still alive in there, open your eyes so we can get the hell out of here.” 

My body jolts as the door jingles to life. Whoever is on the other side has a key because in a few short seconds, the lock turns. I rush to stand from the stool, allowing Carol's hand to slip from mine and dangle on the side of the bed. I meet Dr. Edward's beady gaze and pretend to turn back to her, shifting her body slightly. 

“If you don't move them every two hours, they get bed sores which can lead to infection,” I explain, using what little knowledge I have from overhearing chatter in the hospital. I stand straight and turn to face him. “But you're a doctor. I'm sure you already know that.” 

“Regardless, you shouldn't be in here,” Dr. Edwards deadpans. He moves past me, gently brushing up against my back, and reaches downward toward the power cord connected to the wall. With a quick yank, all the beeping stops and the machines surrounding Carol's body fall dark. 

I hurry to grab his arm, being sure to dig my nails into his clothes. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” I demand to know. He brushes my hand from him and shoves his way past me. 

“Dawn's orders. If she survives on her own, great. We're not wasting anymore resources on her,” he answers. He says it so casually, as if we're not discussing a human life, that I'm absolutely disgusted. I stammer for words to say to him, but nothing worth saying comes out. Just as he opens the door to leave, he stops and glances over his shoulder. “I wouldn't suggest coming in here to turn her either. There are more important things that need to be done around here. Oh, and don't plug it back in. You're not a doctor. I'm sure you don't know how to reset everything.” 

For the next five hours, I sit and wait with Carol, obsessively checking to see if she has a pulse every ten minutes. I'm too scared to leave her alone that when my stomach begins to rumble and feel as though its eating itself, I can't even bring myself to get up from the stool and get some food. The silence settling over us is almost as painful as the hunger inside me and I find myself craving Adeline's badgering and the monotonous beeping of the machines that had kept Carol alive. 

My gaze trails up and down her body, stopping at each scratch, cut, and scar I come across. I wonder how fresh they are and how they got there. Every so often, her fingers barely twitch and I'm filled with some sort of hope that her eyes are going to flutter open and she's going to smile at me, but that doesn't happen. Carol remains in her comatose state, walking the fine line between winning the struggle to live or just letting go and allowing herself to slip away. 

The sound of the doorknob rattling yanks me from my thoughts. I hadn't realized that Dr. Edwards locked the door on his way out, but fortunately it gives me enough time to search the nearby drawers for anything I can use against whoever is coming in. My mind automatically assumes that its someone coming to finish Carol off so she isn't taking up a bed, so my hand reaches for the first thing that I can use as a weapon: an awkwardly bent scalpel that I hope hasn't been used on anyone in a very long time. 

“Its me,” Beth hisses, squeezing herself between the door and the frame. She hugs a white, lumpy towel to her chest, obviously hiding something inside. Brushing past me, she whispers a soft, “Excuse me” and dumps the towel onto the counter near my hip. She flicks her ponytail to the side, trying to hide her overwhelmed frown. 

“What is that?” I question as I maneuver around her to lock the door once more. Placing the scalpel on a metal tray at the foot of Carol's bed, I watch as Beth grabs a bag full of liquid and attaches it to the drip stand near Carol's head. “What are you doing?” 

Beth lifts a finger to her lips and narrows her eyes at me. “Saving her life, I hope,” she replies before jutting her chin toward the door. “I need you to watch and listen.” 

Something about the hard expression on the girl's face tells me to shut up, stop asking questions, and trust her. I crack the door and peek out into the hallway. Nobody seems to be around, so I pull it open only a few more inches.

“Carol?” Beth whispers from behind me. “Its Beth.” 

I gasp and flinch as a blonde nurse walks by, but my panic is fleeting when I realize that its just Adeline strolling by in costume and all. After taking a few more steps down the hall, she turns her head and looks at me from over her shoulder with eyes that are nothing but twin gouges in her face before turning to the left and disappearing into another room. 

“I just wanted to let you know I'm here.”

o-o-o

I spend all night tossing and turning and dreaming about Carol walking the halls with lifeless eyes. Every so often, I swear I can hear her laughing just outside my door with my sister, but every time I drag myself from the bed and retch open the door, nobody is standing outside.

By the time morning finally does come, my eyes ache with deserted sleep and my body feels a hundred pounds heavier. Changing into a fresh pair of clothes that have been provided for me, my stomach rears to life once more. I'd forgotten that the last meal I had was breakfast the day before, so before I sit idly by Carol's side like a pathetic puppy, I decide to grab food first. At least this way, if she wakes up today, she'll have something to eat.

My trek from my room toward the cafeteria feels like a lifetime. As I pass Carol's room, I hear a set of muffled voices from the other side of the door. Beth's pitch instantly registers in my head and before I know it, my ear is pressed against the cold metal, straining to understand who she's talking to. 

“...the dirty work,” she says, her tone giving off the sense that she couldn't care less about anything at the moment. “That's how things get done here. Everyone uses people to get what they want.” 

Her words sting my heart as if she's talking directly to me instead of whoever is in the room with her. When Dawn's voice responds, I don't even give myself the chance to hear her side of the conversation. I hate that woman with every ounce of ire inside me for ordering Carol's life support be taken off. Just the sound of her voice is almost enough to send me into a rage, kick the door open, and deliver my fist right into her nose. I hold myself back mainly for what comes from Beth's mouth next. 

“I'm going to get out,” she tells Dawn. “Harper and me – we're getting out, just like Noah.” 

The nagging, aching feeling in my chest only worsens. Beth actually believes what she's saying to Dawn, or at least, she's trying to come across that way. I'm still trying to figure out if Beth believes half the things that come out of her mouth. Feeling that someone is watching me from behind, I decide against standing around and eavesdropping on any more of their conversation. When I glance down both sides of the hallway, I don't see anyone. 

The cafeteria is nearly empty when I arrive. With the exception of an elderly man with a gasping cough and a young woman in her early twenties who had lost her baby only weeks ago, I'm the only one who sits on a curved plastic chair. My appetite is suddenly gone when I look at these two. I wonder where their families are, if they're dead or alive, and if they're trying to find them. Maybe they've given up.

Officer Maclaurin catches my eye from the corner of the room. She stands so still, almost like a statue. If her auburn locks hadn't been shifting in the path of the air drift, I would think she was one. She doesn't look at me, rather she stares straight ahead. I wonder what would happen if she tried to make friendly conversation. 

I don't even get the chance to get food before Dawn wraps her fingers around my arm from behind. “Come with me, Harper,” she orders, yanking me to my feet. She thrusts a handgun into my palm and lifts her tired eyes to mine. “I'm going to need you.” 

As much as I want to bombard her with questions as I follow her back down the hallway that I came, I keep my mouth shut. She seems to be in one of her moods again and I don't want to make it any worse than it already is. When I see Dr. Edwards and Beth emerge from Carol's room in front of us, a conscious Carol slumped in a wheelchair she's pushing, I can't hold my tongue any longer.

“What's going on?” I whisper to Dawn, leaning forward so she's the only one who can hear me.

“We're making a trade,” Dawn deadpans, her eyes glued straight ahead just as Officer Maclaurin's had been. “If I tell you to shoot, you shoot, got it?” 

Beth turns her head to look at me as we pass them. I ignore her and immediately gaze down at Carol. She seems a little dazed, like she'd just woken up not too long ago, but realizes who I am right away. Her mouth cracks open only the slightest and she murmurs a soft, “Harper.” My heart feels like it shatters for the third time in only a few hours. 

We stop in a hallway that leads out of the hospital, one that I've walked up and down so many times trying to avoid Adeline. Surrounding us are three other officers, their guns drawn and pointed toward the exit. I feel a small squeeze just below my left butt cheek and grab for my gun, but when I look down at the hand and realize its Carol's, my panic subsides. 

A shadowy figure approaches the half-window on the swinging doors before us. “Lower your weapons,” Dawn demands. Her officers pocket their guns without question. Then, she turns her head to the radio attached to her shoulder and says, “Holster your weapons.” 

The figure suddenly turns into a dozen figures, rustling about and shaking the door as they move. My mind gives a picture of a horde of walkers, but why would they respond to Dawn's voice like that? The doors swing open inwards and my breath hitches in my throat. 

Four officers I'd only seen a few times before enter, their hands tied behind their backs. Behind them, Rick, Sasha, Noah, Tyreese, and Daryl follow suit. Two of the officers branch off and head our direction while Beth pushes Carol forward. Rick and Daryl keep a firm hold on the remaining two.

I can't take my eyes off Daryl. My chest feels as though its on fire as every final memory I have of him rushes to me. The look on his face when he thought I was dying, the way he struggled to get to me before the walkers did, the pleading cry that had erupted from his mouth. The pain is almost too much to bear, like someone carving words into my flesh and bone, but when his baby blue pools meet my horrified stare, the pain triples, like acid is being poured into these carvings. I watch as he takes a deep inhale, a tiny step back, and tightens his hold on the officer's uniform. 

“Where's Lamson?” Dawn calls out, her voice echoing off the walls. 

“Rotters got him,” the officer in Rick's custody informs her. 

“We saw it go down,” the other chimes in. 

“Oh,” Dawn whispers, her eyes flooding with unwanted tears. “I'm sorry to hear that. He was one of the good guys.” My eyes rip away from Daryl's to watch her press a hand to Beth's back and urge her forward a few more steps. “One of yours for one of mine.” 

Rick eyes me, his gaze trailing down to the gun in my hand that I'd forgotten was even there. He nods slowly and I find myself doing the same, like he thinks we're an agreement that if Dawn goes back on her word, I'm to use it against her.

But I'm not in agreement. Not in the least.


	6. The Choice

The moment Daryl's voice fills the hallway with a short, simple, “Move,” I feel like I'm back at the prison, listening to the annoyance dripping from his words as he tries to instruct me on how to shoot a gun. Thinking back on it, I almost laugh but decide against it. Our current situation doesn't call for anything to lighten the mood, rather pounding hearts and steady glares. The gun in my hand feels as though it weighs a ton. 

Daryl pushes the officer he's holding toward us. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Beth starts to push Carol's wheelchair toward the group. Instead, she's shoved out of the way by Officer Maclaurin, who probably thinks Beth is going to book it the moment she sees fit. As he grabs the wheelchair, Daryl locks gazes with me once more. 

I know he's putting two and two together. They only have one more of Dawn's officers. Dawn still has both Beth and me in her custody. So, who's it going to be that stays behind? Me or Beth? My answer is clear when Dawn turns to me. For the first time since I woke up from my coma, she looks at me like the world hasn't gone to shit, like my parents are still alive, like we're just two ordinary people going about our boring, safe, ordinary lives. She reaches past me and grabs Beth's arm. She chose Beth. 

I make a point not to look at the blonde girl even when I know her frantic blue eyes are desperately searching my face for any sign that I may be upset with this decision. To be honest, I'm not quite sure if I am. Even if Dawn had chosen me to take Beth's place, nothing would ever be the same in Rick's group. People have died, people have been thought to be dead, and as it is now, I'm not sure if I want it anymore. At least with Dawn, I have even a tiny bit of a connection to my parents. 

Rick meets Beth halfway. Once she's near him, he practically shoves the female guard toward us. I catch her sloppily; she lands hard on her left knee and hisses out a quiet, “Fuck.” Rick presses his cracked, dry lips to Beth's hair and a dull pain settles in my gut. 

“Glad we could work things out,” Dawn calls after Beth as she more than happily joins the group. The pain only doubles as Daryl casts a another glance toward me over his shoulder before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. What the hell happened between the two of them? 

Without another word, Rick's group turns from us and starts for the door they came from. I watch Dawn's body tense up into a hyper-rigid state. Slowly, like someone is forcing her, she looks at me and a spark of realization lights in her eyes. 

“Now I just need Noah!” she hurries to shout as she turns her attention back to the retreating group of people. “And then you can leave.”

“Why Noah?” I whisper as I take hold of her arm. She wastes no time yanking it from my grasp. “Just let them go.” 

When Rick's group turns around once more, I spy Adeline hiding out near Beth. With a sadistic grin, she looks down at the girl and shrugs nonchalantly. Suddenly, the urge to start screaming at the top of my lungs for Beth to run and hide because something, and I don't know what that something is, is going to happen to her. My mouth cracks open, but my voice disappears. 

“That wasn't part of the deal,” Rick tells Dawn as he carelessly stalks toward us. From the corner of my eyes, I can see the officers around me nervously fondle their weapons, but nobody raises their sights. For a moment, his blue eyes stare me down, almost as if he's waiting for me to put in my two cents. I want to tell him that its no use, but once again, I keep my mouth shut. 

Dawn lets out a heavy breath that says she's obviously tired of playing this game. “Noah was my ward,” she explains slowly, like she's talking to a child. “Beth took his place and I'm losing her, so I need him back.”

Finally, words escape my mouth. “Dawn, I'll stay, just let them--” She cuts me off by gripping the front of my shirt and glaring daggers into my eyes. Unsurprisingly, my hand tightens around my gun and I can hear multiple clicks from Rick's group. The officers to our left don't even move. 

“My officers put their lives on the line to find him,” Dawn hisses, allowing droplets of spittle to land on my forehead. “One of them _died._ ” 

A clustered movement from Rick's group causes me to turn my head. Noah takes a step toward us, but Daryl presses a palm into his chest to stop him. “He ain't stayin',” he growls before pointing a finger at me. “And you get yer fuckin' hand off her. She ain't stayin' either.” 

“Daryl,” I start, but the two are already wrapped up in their own feud. 

“They're both mine. You have no claim on them,” Dawn shoots back. Her gaze flicks to me again. “Seems you've been holding out on some information, Harper. I didn't know you were all such great friends.” Sarcasm and ire leak from her words. “Almost like a family, even.” 

“The boy wants to go home,” Rick tries to reason, trying to change the subject away from the fact that I lied to Dawn's face about knowing Beth before all this. “And Harper wants to leave too, so you have no claim on them. They're coming with us.” 

Instead of listening to Daryl, Dawn only curls her fingers tighter around my shirt. I want to shoot her right between her eyes, so she'll finally stop glaring at me. “Let Noah go,” I demand in a low whisper. “He's a person and he doesn't belong to you.” There's a loud buzzing in my ears and beside me, I think I can feel Adeline breathing on my neck. I don't even notice Noah speaking to Rick until Dawn loosens her hold on me and shoves me from her. I awkwardly land in the arms of Officer Maclaurin, who steadies me on my feet quickly. 

My stomach lurches as I watch Noah hobble toward us, the look of shameful defeat written clear as day on his face. In this moment, I hate Dawn. I want to watch her bleed out, return as a walker, and I want to be the one who puts a bullet in her brain. My fingers tremble against the gun in my hand. I can end this all right now with just a pull of a trigger. I destroy that thought, though, at the realization of the officers standing beside and behind me. No sooner would Dawn's body drop that I could have twenty bullet holes in my own body. 

“Wait!” Beth calls. Noah stops and turns to her just in time to catch her in a painful hug. She presses herself to him so forcefully that it almost seems like she's trying to morph their bodies together. I glance toward Daryl once more, longing for the same type of embrace. 

“I knew you'd be back,” Dawn hisses, almost tauntingly, to Noah. Beth's piercing blue pools, brimming with tears, snap up to the woman's face as she slowly releases Noah. She advances toward Dawn like a lion stalking its prey.

“I get it now,” Beth murmurs, her chin trembling. 

Everything seems to slow into a sleepy blur. Grabbing the pair of medical scissors hidden inside her arm cast, Beth plunges them into Dawn's collar. A gunshot rings through the hallways, Beth's head flies backward, and her body crumples to the hard floor that is now splattered with her own blood. My own gun clatters to the ground; every inch of my body is rigid. I can't breathe and for a moment, all the bodies grow hazy. 

“No!” Daryl bellows. His voice sounds so far away, like I'm hearing him as I'm finally coming out of a deep sleep. 

“No, I didn't mean to...” Dawn's voice is loud, as if its coming over a speaker pointed directly at my head. She didn't mean to. She didn't mean to fire a bullet through Beth's skull. She didn't mean to kill her. She didn't mean to. 

I hear myself finally exhale as Daryl reaches for a gun holstered by his belt. He doesn't stop the flow of tears as he lifts the weapon and pulls the trigger. Dawn's body drops next to Beth's. I tilt my head downward as a mixture of their blood reaches my bare feet. Its warm, their blood. Warmer than anything I've felt in such a long time. Adeline dances in it only a few feet from me.

“...YOUR FIRE!”

I'm yanked back to reality just as one of the officers behind me shouts. Everyone has their guns drawn at everyone else. More people will die soon and for the first time since I can remember, I hope I'm one of them. 

“Its over!” the same officer calls. “It was just about her! Stand down.”

Almost every gun lowers, with the exception of Daryl's. He shifts his body weight to and from each foot, like he's forgotten how to stand still, as his tears drip from his beard and onto his clothes and the floor. Carol cautiously stands from her wheelchair and places a hand on his arm, forcing him to lower it. He drops his head, finally tearing his gaze from Beth's body. I wish it had been me who was shot. I wish he was crying over my death. 

“You can stay,” Officer Maclaurin offers to the group as she places a steady hand on my back. “We're surviving here. Its better than out there.”

“No,” Rick responds. I can tell he's refusing to look at Daryl as he shakily kneels by Beth's body and places a hand against her head. His fingers lace their way through her hair, like they used to do to mine. “And I'm taking anyone back there who wants to leave. If you want to come with us, just step forward now.” 

Every pair of eyes fall on me. Even Daryl has lifted his head to watch me, to see what my next move will be. We stare at each other for a moment. Every second that ticks by, I feel my heart filling with adoration for him. Then, he turns back to Beth as another wave of muffled sobs escape his mouth. My eyes lift to Rick and I give him a small nod of acknowledgment. 

“Be safe out there.”

The group's reaction is a mix of confusion, eye rolling, and anger. Daryl doesn't tear his attention away from the corpse in front of him. “What do you mean by that?” Carol demands to know. 

I shrug my shoulders. “Exactly what it sounds like. Be safe. I'm...I'm not going with you.” I know there's no place for me with the group anymore. Too much has changed while I was gone. Too much blood has been shed. Too many bonds have been formed. 

“Harper, stop it,” Rick snaps. “Let's go.” 

From the corner of my eye, I watch Daryl push his arms underneath Beth and lift her from her pool of blood. I can't watch it anymore, so I turn my back and force my way through the group of officers and patients, ignoring Carol and Rick calling after me.

o-o-o

Wiping the grime from the window of Dawn's office, I peer out into the courtyard at the rusted red firetruck. Four people I've never met before hop from the vehicle, followed by Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie. My heart aches for Maggie. The group should almost be at the doors by now and when she sees the fate of her sister in Daryl's arms...

“You should be out there, you know,” a voice says from behind me. I try to ignore it the way I've been trying to ignore Adeline, but this is a little more difficult, seeing as its coming from a living person this time. “You shouldn't be here. You don't belong here.”

My chest feels tight at Dr. Edward's words. “I don't belong with them either,” I comment bitterly. “Might as well stay here where I at least have a roof over my head.” My body jolts slightly at the sound of rounds hiring below. Whoever the people with Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne are, they're pretty good shots. Walkers drop as soon as they're sighted, like they're nothing to fear.

“You don't have anyone here,” he responds. “You do with them. That's better than a roof.” 

Their guns lower as the rest of the group comes into view. Maggie drops her gun to the concrete, covers her mouth with her hand to silence a scream, and drops to her knees. Daryl stops in his tracks, Beth's limbs dangling limply. Maggie's wailing bursts through her hand and even though I'm hidden behind glass, it pierces my ears. I'm breathless and teary eyed again. 

“You're going to need them,” Dr. Edwards tells me, “and they're going to need you.” 

For once, when I expect Adeline to be lurking somewhere nearby, she's gone and the painful longing inside me swells. Watching Maggie physically and mentally break down at the sight of her sister sends images through my mind of my own sister with a bullet hole in her stomach that I placed there. At least I had the choice to let my sister live. Maggie didn't.

My brain stops functioning. Or, at least, I feel like it does. Before I know it, I'm sprinting down the hallways and jumping down flights of stairs with no regard to how my body will keep up. I have to get to the group. I have to get to the group. _I have to get to the group._

I hear the firetruck's engine roar to life. Pushing my body harder, knowing I'll regret it later, I shove officers and patients from my path. Officer Maclaurin is at the end of the hallway, near the only door separating me from the group. She sees me coming, frantic and breathless, and smiles. She holds the door open for me and allows me to take my first step into the outside world. 

“Rick!” I holler. “Rick! Stop! I'm coming!”

The sound of my voice and the engine riles the remaining walkers that have wandered their way toward the courtyard. I see Adeline and Beth's face on every single one of them, so I try to keep my focus locked on the truck. Their moans sound more like strained screams, like they're calling for my help. I have no time to put an end to their already spent lives; _I have to get to the group._

The firetruck is already in motion; slow at first, but gradually gaining speed. A face appears in the window – Tyreese, his expression a mixture of grief and surprise. I can feel my legs burning, my bare feet aching, and my heart pounding against my chest. My body screams for me to stop running, to give up, but when the side door opens to the firetruck, a flame is set beneath me. 

A pair of strong, dark arms reach toward me. I'm suddenly smothered in the scent of sweat and my face is tickled by Tyreese's beard. Someone pulls the door shut behind me. At first, I can't catch my breath. I start to panic when my chest tightens around my lungs. Carol rubs my back as I pull myself on all fours, telling me to breathe easy and that everything is going to be okay. Someone else is telling me not to hyperventilate. Another someone else is telling me to try to vomit.

“Give her some space!” Daryl's voice booms over the sound of the engine and Maggie's hysterical crying. They took Beth's body; Maggie won't let go of her tiny hands. 

I lift my gaze from the body to each person huddled in the truck. A large redheaded man is driving, but he's watching me through the mirror. Everyone is watching me. 

When I meet Rick's eyes, he presses his mouth into a thin line. “Welcome back, Harper.” 

I dip my head, my forehead touching the cold metal, and I cry, I cry, I cry.


	7. Burn

A bump in the road jolts me awake. I must've fallen into a dreamless sleep, because when my eyes snap open, I don't even realize that I'd dozed off. Rubbing my sore neck, I take a moment to glance around the interior of the truck. Part of me wishes that everything that had happened to this point was a dream because when my eyes settle on the blanket-covered corpse in the corner, my heart plummets and shatters all over again. Maggie's hysterical sobs have quieted to tiny whimpers that sound as if she's bargaining to God to give Beth back. 

Stretching my legs out in front of me, I move my attention to Rick and Daryl sitting side by side on the opposite end of the truck. They both look like they've been through hell and back, which is probably an understatement. Both sets of eyes are locked on the metal floor, refusing to acknowledge the overwhelming cloud of sadness lingering above our heads. Then again, maybe they're just too numb to it by now. 

“Home sweet church,” the redheaded man who has been driving all this way comments darkly as the firetruck screeches to a stop. 

Gears clang within the engines as it purrs to sleep loud enough to muffle Maggie's fading prayer. She places a hand on the blanket and drops her forehead to her own skin. “Beth, please,” she whispers, “wake up. Say something. Sing something.” 

“Hey.” 

The second I react to the sound of Tyreese's voice, I realize that tears have been dripping onto my clothes from my face. Through my blurred vision, I trace Adeline's figure sitting so close to the man that they're nearly touching. I wonder if he would be able to feel her, but as always, he seems blind to her presence. 

My sister takes a moment to glance at Maggie as she struggles to lift Beth in her arms. Without hesitation, Daryl comes to her aid. “I told you,” Adeline scolds teasingly. “If you would've just kept your mouth shut, Beth wouldn't be so lifeless right now. I told you that you're a murderer, didn't I?”

“You okay?” Tyreese questions, his dark eyes boring into mine. As he speaks, Adeline silently copies his words with her own mouth. 

I grab hold of a metal handle and begin to pull myself from my sitting position, wiping my face with my free hand. My bones feel as though they're made of concrete; I'm so stiff that its nearly painful. “Yeah,” I finally respond, allowing Tyreese to place his hand on the small of my back to help me from the truck. “I'm okay.” 

Before us stands a simple, white church, seemingly untouched by the world around it. Other than the obvious attempts to fortify the entrance by sharpened pieces of wood and barbed wire, I would almost except people to come dressed in their nice Sunday clothes for a regular sermon about a God who loves and protects all. I almost want to outwardly scoff at that idea. 

“It ain't much,” Tyreese remarks, “but its home for now.” 

I'm so tired as I approach the wooden stairs that I consider just giving up right on the spot and continuing my nap, but when heads start to poke from the entryway, that option is quickly cast from me. Carl and Finnegan greet the group like a pair of soldiers; armed, emotionless, and rigid. Finnegan's demeanor crumples, however, when his eyes settle on me. 

“Finn?” I mouth, unsure if I actually made any noise. He seems to stumble in place, as if he isn't entirely sure if I'm who he thinks I am. I can't blame him – I have no idea what's been going through his head since the day everyone suspected I died. 

I wonder what Daryl told him when he returned to the prison? Was he like every other adult before the outbreak and gave false promises that I was in a better place? Or was he harsh, like I'd imagine him to be, and told Finnegan that my flesh had been eaten away and now I wandered the world as another brainless, soulless, cage of rotting organs? 

“Harper?” Finnegan questions, his eyes squinting hard. Even from so far away, I can make out the blue tint that do nothing but remind me of what Beth's used to look like. Had they always been so bright? 

“Hey, Finn,” I reply, forcing a wavering grin onto my face. I can feel the grime on my skin as my lips move; I can't remember the last time my face moved like this. 

He approaches me slowly, both hands on the rifle slung around his shoulders. My first reaction is to demand to know who the hell gave a five-year-old a damn gun, but looking at him coming closer, I can see that he is so much older than five. His midnight black hair bounces on his shoulders now, ending in sharp curls at his almost mid-back. The left corner of his lip is decorated with a fresh scar, still pink and obvious. From the bags under his eyes, I wonder how long he's gone without sleep. 

Everyone around us apparently decides it best to give the two of us some space; they crowd into the church, Daryl hauling Beth's body and Maggie clinging to her hand for dear life. Finnegan doesn't say anything at first. He stops about ten feet from me and peers at my face, searching for something that I can't quite put my finger on. Then, he holds out his right hand toward me.

“C'mon,” he urges. “We have some food and you kind of smell bad, like walker guts. Let's get you cleaned up.” 

Suddenly, I find myself in the care of a child who, at the moment, is mentally much older than I am. I can't find words to say as I take his hand and allow him to lead me into the church. The place looks like hell – most the pews have been destroyed, blood is stained into the wood beneath my bare feet, and the entire place reeks of vomit coming from Maggie, who still can't stand the sight of her dead sister. I want to pat her back and tell her that I know exactly how she feels right now, but the part of me that knows I'm the reason why Beth is dead holds me back. That, and Finnegan is dead-set on getting me to the back room of the building. He doesn't even bat an eye at the corpse.

As he rummages through a few cardboard boxes, I take a seat on a wobbly wooden chair in the corner and take in my surroundings. A few Bibles lie burnt and forgotten in the corner, a storage shelf hosts a few empty cartons of milk and water, and a rusted faucet drips disgusting black liquid into the sink below. 

“Don't worry,” Finnegan tells me as he thrusts a Hershey's bar into my hand. “We don't use that water to bathe. There's some clean water back outside.” 

My mouth opens before I have a chance to stop my words. “Aren't you sad about Beth?” I question, then immediately stare down at my toes. 

Finnegan is quiet for a moment, but he nervously strums his fingers on the rifle. “Yeah, a little,” he answers finally. “After you left, she took care of me a lot. I was really sad when everyone got split up at the prison, but people die now. So it goes.” 

I lift my gaze back to his tiny, worn face. “So it goes?” I repeat, thoroughly confused at the random phrase. 

Finnegan nods and juts his chin toward the chocolate in my head, silently telling me to eat. “Yeah. So it goes.” He takes a deep inhale and I automatically know I'm in for a lengthy story. “Daryl reads to me a lot. He found a book called _Slaughterhouse-Five_ by some Kurt guy. Every time someone dies, he says 'so it goes' because even though they're dead now, they're still alive before they died. That's what the Tralfamadorians think.” He meets my absolutely bewildered stare and immediately averts it. “It helps me feel better...when people die. It happens a lot. Also, the Tralfamadorians are aliens.”

The chocolate in my mouth begins to melt, but I feel frozen. My heart feels as though its being squeezed out of all the blood. What has Finnegan gone through to make him so nonchalant about death? Surely some book couldn't have been the only thing to change his mind? Could it have been Lizzie and Mika? Or Karen? Or me?

o-o-o

“We have to do it now,” Rick states in a hushed tone. “We can't keep her body lying around.”

I sit against the wall, straining to listen to the conversation between Rick, Carol, Daryl, Glenn, and Sasha. I know they're talking about burying Beth, mostly for Maggie's sake. Since our arrival this afternoon, she hasn't left her sister's side, not even to respond to Judith's screeching crying from her makeshift crib near the only intact pew. Glenn's words don't even phase her when he whispers that he loves her or asks when the last time she ate was.

While the group chatters on, I keep my eyes locked on Daryl. This is the first time I've been able to admire him from afar since the hospital without dozing in and out of sleep. His hair is so much longer now and if I squint hard enough, I think I can see strands of gray poking out from the dark mess. He's lost quite a bit of weight, which makes sense, I suppose. The church doesn't seem as full of supplies as the prison did. I wonder if there's even a garden growing anywhere nearby. 

Daryl's eyes shift from Rick's gaze and meets mine for a second. My heart feels as if it plummets into my butt and I immediately look away, focusing on something that isn't alive – something I didn't used to be completely head over heels for. Thinking on it, am I still head over heels for Daryl? Since the hospital, he hasn't said a word to me. This small act of acknowledgment is the first time he's paid me any attention since Beth was shot. 

Like a lashing tiger, jealousy erupts inside me furiously. Beth. Just what the hell happened between the two of them that made Daryl so emotional when she was killed? Sure, it was a tragedy and sure, even I'm still upset about it, but Daryl seems to have turned into Maggie's male counterpart, minus the constant hysterical sobbing. Just what happened between the two of them to make him so sad over it? Did he act this way when everyone thought I died?

What the hell am I thinking? Beth was special to everyone and everyone has their own way of dealing with her death, whether it be as obvious as Maggie or as subtle as Finnegan's decision to ignore it completely because of some theory in a book. 

Trying to push the bitter feelings from my body, I run my fingers through my damp hair, working out the tangles as I go. A body slumps suddenly down next to me and my heart lurches in surprise. Carl lets out a heavy sigh and leans forward, demanding to catch my eye. I'm not sure what to say to him. We haven't talked at all since the group got back to the church. So, instead of something pleasant, my mouth opens and word vomit spews from it. 

“Why hasn't he talked to me?” I question, my gaze still beneath my canopy of hair. “He's barely even _looked_ at me, for shit's sake. What did I do?”

“Well, for starters,” Carl replies, his deep voice sending a chill down my spine, “he thought you were dead. We all did. Like, literally dead, gone, forever. And then he sees you again, and watches Beth die ten minutes later. That's a lot to take in, you know?”

I open my mouth to force out some kind of rebuttal, but Carl cuts me off before I can make even a sound. 

“Yes, he acted this way before, too, when you were gone. Actually, it was a lot worse,” he tells me in a harsh whisper. With a small grunt of effort, Carl lifts himself to his feet and shakes his head slowly, watching the “Beth body decision group” break away. “And honestly, Harper, you're still as selfish as you used to be.”

o-o-o

“'So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.'”

Prayers have always made me uncomfortable. Even more so now, now that I'm pretty convinced there is no higher power. As our group stands around the hole we've placed Beth's body in, I keep my hands clasped in front of me, trying my hardest to keep my head bowed and my eyes closed. Every so often, I crack one open, sneaking at peek at Daryl, who is using his long hair to hide the fact that more tears are creeping down his face as he and Rick shovel dirt onto the girl's body.

Finnegan stands beside me, his tiny hands locked around his gun. Little by little, I inch further and further from him when I'm sure he isn't looking. Maybe its just me, but something about a five-year-old with a rifle in his hands makes me uneasy.

Letting out a deep, silenced sigh, I push my hidden gaze around our surroundings. Maggie couldn't have picked a better place to bury her sister. The backside of the church seemed so fitting, and when she expressed that she only wished she could have picked a place like this to bury Hershel, nobody in their right mind argued with her. Part of me had almost forgotten Hershel, as well as all the other deaths back at the prison. Sure, Beth had told me about them, but they all seemed so meaningless when those alive now didn't know if they would be the next day.

Maggie's strange noises bring my attention to her. She's trying her hardest to quiet her sobs, but the pain is too much for her. I pity her. I really do. At least when Adeline died, I didn't have to watch as two men threw dirt onto her body in a hole. Then again, I'm not even sure my sister is actually dead, what with the way she's been popping up at the most unwanted times, like right now, for instance. 

Adeline peers over the shoulder of Father Gabriel, a priest the group had saved before they made their trek to the hospital, who keeps his dark eyes on his Bible as he reads. I wonder if he even remembers if we're all still here from the way he seems so immersed in the book. “'For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.'”

My sister lets out some odd guffawing noise and decides to take her leave by walking behind a nearby tree. She doesn't come back into view from the other side. 

Nobody really has the heart to say any final words for Beth, except Finnegan, who raises his hand as if he's back in school. Every set of eyes peers down at him and I almost expect him to shrink away from all the attention. Instead, he puffs out his tiny chest and clears his throat.

“So it goes.”

o-o-o

While everyone stays inside to pack their belongings, I make my way around the exterior of the church. Just after Beth's burying ceremony, it had been decided to leave for Virginia first thing tomorrow, to where Noah used to live. According to him, its somewhere we can stay and hopefully never leave. A sense of hope, although a possible false sense, but most everyone has nothing else to cling onto now.

A haphazard piece of nearly charred wood on the building stops me in my tracks. It looks as though someone had tried to set the place aflame at some point, but had given up halfway through. Instead, they etched words into it.

_“YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS”_

Goosebumps rise on my arms, my legs, and on the back of my neck. I feel as if these were meant for me because ultimately, I'm the reason Beth died. I run my fingers over the letters, watching as the white paint flakes off at my touch. The sound of snapping wood brings my attention back to what I was doing in the first place. I'd nearly forgotten.

My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I sneak around the corner of the church. He lets out a deep grunt as he thrusts his foot on a thin tree branch, breaking it into two. He bends down, grabs the pieces, and tosses them in a pile.

“Hey, Daryl?” I mutter, my voice small. 

Daryl stops abruptly and looks at me through his sweaty hair. “The hell do ya want?” he snaps harshly. I don't expect anything more at this point. I shift my weight uncomfortably, every single question I had prepared for him disappearing from my mind. 

“Can we talk?”


	8. Defy

An apology. That's what should come out of my mouth. I should apologize for throwing myself to the walkers, even though I had the best intentions in mind. I should apologize for feeling envious of the relationship Beth and Daryl had shared in my absence, even though it was strictly platonic. I should apologize for abandoning him for so long, even though I had planned to die. Instead, the exact opposite comes from my mouth. 

“Whose idea was it to give Finn a gun?” I demand to know. 

Throwing the thin tree branches he'd been holding in his right hand to the growing pile, Daryl shakes his head and lifts his arms slightly before dropping them to his sides. “ _That's_ all you're carin' about right now?” he questions, his voice tight with ire and disbelief. “A damned _gun_?” 

I know I should stop badgering him about it. Finn having a gun really is the last thing I should be fretting about. Well, one of the last things. “Daryl,” I hiss, noticing a small flinch as I say his name, “do you even realize how old he is?” 

“Six.”

“Exactly! He's fi-- Wait, six?” I stutter. Something about that seems so off. Then, like a sucker punch to the gut, I realize the mistake I've made for the last three years has made another round for the fourth. 

“You missed his birthday,” Daryl spits, “again.” 

I can feel my lip trembling at his words as a hard lump forms in my throat. The last birthday I can remember Finn having was his second birthday and he was much too young to even remember it. Opening my mouth to force out some pathetic rebuttal, I decide against it and cross my arms over my chest. “Oh,” is the only thing that rolls off my tongue. 

Scoffing, Daryl turns toward the pile of branches and gathers as many as he can in his arms. “Anythin' else you wanna complain about, _princess_?” he grumbles. “If not, I have shit to do 'fore we leave tomorrow.” Without waiting for me to think of any more complaints, he starts toward the church, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

Its now or never. “Daryl, look, I'm sorry, okay?” This brings him to a halt; he stops in his tracks and glares at the building in front of him. I'm sure there are a few of our companions trying to spy on us through a window or from around the corner, so I keep my voice as low as possible without having to whisper. “I'm sorry for everything; for missing Finn's birthday and for what I did back with those walkers. Just...everything.” I have so much more I want to say – that I haven't stopped loving him, that I just want things to go back to how they were before, that all I want is to fall into him again – but my words stop short when he starts walking again.

“Save it,” he growls. “I don't want nothin' from you. His gun ain't even loaded, by the way.”

Just as I suspected, as my eyes follow Daryl around the edge of the church, I notice a tiny, raven-haired head poking out from behind a nearby tree. It vanishes the second I uncross my arms. With a heavy sigh, I cover my face with my hands for a moment, squeezing my lids shut tightly, and drop my arms to my side. “Come on, Finn,” I call toward the tree. “I've already seen you.” 

Like a kicked puppy, Finnegan inches his way from the tree, his face unsurprisingly downcast as he meets my stare. “Sorry,” he mutters, his dark eyes dropping to the ground in front of him. “I know its bad to spy, but I heard you yelling and thought something was wrong.” 

Had I been yelling? If so, my mind had obviously been too wrapped up in Daryl's reactions to even notice my own volume. “Its all right,” I reply. I can't get mad at him, especially not right now. “Hey, Finn?” Anxiously, he lifts his gaze once more, probably expecting a hypocritical scolding. 

My stomach twists painfully in regret and shame as I approach him. Although he refuses to take a step away, I can tell he's nervous about me being so close, which makes me wonder just what in the hell happened to this kid who used to spark up random conversations with strangers and run into the arms of anyone offering a hug. Taking a knee to meet his level, I grab his tiny hands in mine and force a smile onto my face. 

“Are you going to cry, Harper?” Finnegan questions. I know he's already seen the tears glossing over my eyes, but I try to hide it from him anyway by pulling him into a firm embrace, burying my face in the crook of his neck. 

“I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Finn,” I mutter against his skin. He smells of sweat and dirt, just like any other kid his age. More than anything, I wish that's all he was. 

Finnegan pulls his hands out from between us and rests them on my back. “Its okay, Harper,” he tells me, giving me three reassuring pats. “I love you.”

“I love you, Finn.”

o-o-o

The church is disturbingly quiet as we finish off the rest of what we call dinner. Carol had pulled together just enough rations to make a concoction of pasta and canned tuna. Nobody had complained. Hunger had long ago taken over the need to wish for better food. One by one, they'd took plastic platefuls and settled into the nearest corner or intact pew. Even Maggie had peeled herself away from Beth's grave to force something into her stomach.

I stare at my own plate. All this time, I'd been playing with it more than eating it. My earlier conversation with Daryl had left such a bad taste in my mouth that I couldn't even imagine tuna covering it up with its own disgusting tang. Finnegan sits next to me, ravishingly staring at the rest of my food. 

“Happy late birthday,” I comment as I push the lump of colorless food onto his plate, earning myself a grateful smile. Like some kind of human vacuum, he opens his mouth and I swear the food is gone in no less than five seconds.

As I look around the church, all the faces I once knew seem so foreign now. Directly across from me, sitting against the opposite wall, Carol meets my eye. While she shovels her own food into her mouth, she gracefully bounces Judith in her crossed legs, who seems sound asleep. As if reading my thoughts and wants me to think otherwise, Judith's tiny hand extends toward a piece of pasta dangling from the fork in Carol's hand. I can't help but smile as the older woman looks down at Judith like she's the greatest thing in the entire world and drops the pasta into her mouth. 

The last time I had seen Judith, she was just barely a newborn. Nothing but random crying bouts, demands for diaper changes, and no personality whatsoever. Now, she turns her head at certain people, refuses to let anyone but Rick, Carl, Daryl, Tyreese, and Carol hold her, and she makes noises for specific things. She's outgrowing the clothes she has on; her sheep-decorated shirt is ripped slightly at the bottom, exposing the soft skin of her stomach, and she is constantly barefoot. I make a mental note to look for shoes for her at the next store we come across.

Movement near the entrance of the church catches my attention. A trio is huddled together, keeping to themselves. The bulky redheaded man, I notice, is the one who had driven the firetruck from before. I have no idea who the dark-haired woman and the pudgy man with him are, though. The woman catches my stare and narrows her eyes into a fierce glare. She pulls her full lips into a frown and turns her head away from me. 

“Don't worry about her,” Finnegan whispers, picking up on my extremely awkward interaction. “I don't think Rosita knows how to smile.”

I want to laugh because, honestly, something like that coming from him seems so outlandish. Before I can, though, Rick clears his throat and stands from the pew he'd been sitting on. “We need three to keep watch tonight,” he announces, his eyes sweeping over the group. 

Without any hesitation, hands raise in the air. Daryl, who is sitting closest to Rick, stands as Rick gives him a grateful nod. With the two of them surveying the rest of the bunch, I feel obligated to volunteer myself as well. As soon as I lift my hand, though, Rick shakes his head. 

“Sorry, Harper,” he says. “I need you rested for tomorrow.”

My first instinct is to question what he means by that, but he cuts me off by pointing to and calling out a man named Abraham. The redheaded man in the trio stands and slings his rifle over his shoulder. “I'll take the south side,” he declares. He doesn't wait to see the third and final person Rick chooses; he gives Rosita a hard stare before making his way to the outside of the church. Listening to the sound of a rifle being loaded, I realize just how paper thin these walls are. 

“Sasha.”

Sasha, who had been glued to Tyreese's hip since we got to the church, gives Rick a knowing nod and pulls herself to her feet. She and Daryl look at each other for a quiet moment before she asks, “Same as before?”

“Yeah,” he answers. Like a pair of soldiers, they walk side-by-side as they leave through the double doors.

The remaining group members erupt in a bustle of clearing out trash and getting rid of food containers. Finnegan stands to his feet, holds out a hand for me, and offers a sleepy smile. Chuckling under my breath, I take his hand and let him think he's using all his muscles to pull me up. My soft burst of happiness, though, is shot down the second I glance at Maggie. 

Nearest to the door leading to the back room where Finnegan had taken me before, Maggie sits against the wall, her legs pulled close to her chest. Only a few bites have been taken from her plate of food. I don't blame her for not eating. When Adeline had died, forcing anything into my stomach was like pulling teeth from a horse. Next to her, Glenn smooths her hair out with his palm and leans close to her face, whispering something only she can hear. She stares at him, but it seems as if nothing he's saying is registering in her mind. Her expression remains blank, until she looks at me, that is. 

At first, fear swells in my gut. I am, after all, the reason why her sister is dead. That fear, though, disappears as a pained smile cracks on Maggie's face. She mutters something to her husband and uses the wall behind her to push herself onto her feet. As she approaches me, Finnegan grabs my plate and hurries off to wash them with Carl. 

Without saying a word, Maggie slides down the wall behind me and fills the space where Finnegan sat. I refuse to look at her, but I can feel her eyes locked on my face. Then, her hand, skin rough and dry, slides into my palm resting on my right leg and her fingers curl around the spaces between mine. Only then do I turn my head toward her just in time to watch her tears spill over and her forehead settle on my shoulder. 

I just hold her hand and let her cry because honestly, I wanted the same thing.

o-o-o

Dreams fall over the church much quicker than I expected. While everyone sleeps in makeshift beds with their guns near their hands, I'm wide awake. Finnegan snores near my ear, twitching his leg against mine every so often. He'd been so determined to be sure his bed was next to mine that I couldn't argue with him. That, and I didn't have the energy.

After hours of tossing and turning, my body telling my mind to shut the hell up and power down, I sit up and arch my back, staring up into the darkness of the ceiling. Beth's face flashes in my mind once more. It feels like years since I've seen her, and pounding it into my head that she died just this morning seems impossible. 

Prying myself from Finnegan's hold, I stand in a stretch, pressing my arms high toward the ceiling. I figure sleeping is out of the question until I can do something to rid my mind of thoughts of Beth and Maggie's breakdown on my shoulder earlier. She hadn't said anything to me. She had just continued to cry until she finally grew silent. Soft snores replaced her sobs, which left me wondering why she chose me, of all people, to find enough peace in to be able to fall asleep. As flattering as it should have been, it did nothing but make me feel even guiltier about everything that had happened. 

I tiptoe through the dark clusters of people, making my way toward the entrance. Just before everyone had settled down to try to sleep the night through, I had watched Carl place a switchblade on a storage box only a few feet from the doorway. Hoping nobody had moved it, I feel around blindly, trying my absolute hardest to avoid knocking anything over and waking anyone up. Finally, I breathe out in relief as my fingers fall upon the cool metal. 

The doors threaten to groan in defiance as I slip out of the building. 

Crisp air meets my face as I bring the doors to a close behind me. Everything seems so quiet, which is nothing new of this day. Expecting to hear at least crickets singing in the distance, I start my wandering, listening to nothing but the crunch of rubble beneath my feet. 

I try to watch for three figures lurking in the night. Answering questions of my intentions is something I want to avoid for now. At least, until I can find out that answer for myself. Right now, just in these few moments I have to myself, I want to explore. It seems as if eyes have been on me all day and now that I finally have my own space to breathe once more, I'm planning on taking full advantage of it. 

Carl's blade tight in my hand, I stalk about the exterior of the church. Nighttime makes it seem like an entirely different place. Where a tree stood only hours ago, a tall, lanky shadow extends from the ground, the arms arching toward me menacingly. 

“You shouldn't be out here, you know,” Adeline warns from behind me. 

I turn to face my sister, my fingers loosening on the weapon in my hand. What damage could a ghost do? 

“I wanted fresh air,” I defend, noting the disapproving look she's casting in my direction. I know it all too well. 

“Do you even know where you are?”

Her words throw off my own sense of judgment. Taking a moment to glance around, I realize that the tree I'd spent more time than I originally thought looking at isn't anywhere around. Instead, more like it sprout up in all directions, creating a barrier between us and the path I must've used to wander here. Leaves crunching beneath my feet bring my attention back to Adeline, who isn't Adeline any longer. 

With a sharp inhale of surprise, I stumble away from the walker dragging her feet toward me. Wiry white hair covers her face, but through it all, I can still make out rotting teeth settled inside a bloodied hole of a mouth. 

Just as I pull myself together enough to raise the blade toward her, a bolt lodges itself into her skull. With a final moan of defeat, she crumbles in on herself.

“The hell are you doin' out here, Harper?!” Daryl practically yells as he emerges from the trees to retrieve his bolt from the walker. 

I still don't have an answer for this, so instead of stuttering out some half-assed reply, I just watch him. My mouth feels dry and my hands tremble as I realize that I could've died because my dead sister won't stay dead. Daryl's hand wraps tightly around my forearm. He shakes me gently, refusing to accept anything but my full attention. I tear my gaze from the walker and stare at him, noticing that he's been talking to me the entire time I've been lost in my bitter thoughts toward Adeline. 

“That's the first time you've said my name all day,” I point out, immediately wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. I didn't mean for that to be physically voiced. 

This must confuse him; his hold on me staggers for a moment before tightening again. It doesn't hurt, but there's no way I can wiggle my way out of it. “Have you gone crazy or somethin'?” he hisses. I can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. “C'mon, we're goin' back.”

The moment he takes a step back toward the direction of the church, I dig my heels into the ground and resist him. “Not yet,” I say, meeting his look of exhaustion and annoyance. “I just...I need to kill something, okay? I was going to kill that walker, but you ruined it for me.”

“Looks like you were gonna give it a damn hug,” Daryl comments curtly. With the smallest hesitation, his releases me and looks away, exhaling in a lengthy sigh. “All right,” he mumbles. “Let's get this shit over with.”


	9. Torture of Small Talk

Goosebumps rise on my skin. Although I refuse to show any sign in front of Daryl, I'm absolutely freezing. But I keep going, thankful for the pair of shoes Michonne had dug out of a few of her personal belongings before she decided to retire for the night. Through the rubber and cloth, I can still feel the dull ache from running through the hospital and on the concrete earlier in the day. 

Still, it feels like weeks ago.

“Any clue where we're goin'?” Daryl questions from behind me. His voice is tight with stress and I can't tell if its from being outside in the darkness, under constant danger of walkers, or if its from being alone with me. 

I come to a halt, glancing around at our surroundings. Nothing except the shadows of trees, mounds of dirt, and rocks block of vision. If I squint hard enough, I think I can make out the church. A small candle flickers away in one of the windows. “Not really,” I answer, making a mental note to be sure I can see that light at all times. “I'm just kind of wandering, I guess.”

We continue on, keeping our ears open and weapons at the ready. Part of me feels calmer than I have since I woke up from my coma. Back before the prison had been overrun, I looked forward to my supply runs with Daryl. Even though we often found ourselves in tight spots, I was always sure Daryl would figure out someway to keep us safe. 

Somewhere far away, I hear Adeline's laughter. For a moment, it sounds as if its coming from the church. Stopping again, I strain to listen for more, but she's fallen silent. I don't hear anything but crickets chirping in the distance and a walker moaning. We'll have to take care of that later. 

“What?” Daryl asks.

Not realizing that my expression had changed, or that he can even see it in the dark, I turn to face him. “Oh, its uh, its nothing.” The last thing I want to do is tell him that I'm hearing my dead sister laugh. Then, an idea pops into my head; a possible way to find out if I'm really going crazy, or if this is just a side effect of losing a sibling. “Remember when we had found Merle and he had already...turned?”

“How can I forget something like that? That was the worst damn day of my life,” Daryl snaps. Taking a moment to collect himself through a few deep breaths, he adds in a much softer tone, “One of the worst.” 

Guilt hits me hard once again. I know now that for the rest of my life, as long as Daryl is anywhere near me, I probably won't live down the fact that I tried to sacrifice myself for him. Even so, I can't help but feel a little irritated whenever its brought up. “Well,” I continue, trying to brush off his comment, “did you ever feel like he wasn't really gone after we left that place?” 

Choosing my words carefully turns out to be more difficult than I originally thought. Daryl shifts weight uncomfortably and we stand in silence for a few moments. I can tell he's trying to figure out exactly what I'm getting at, but damn it, the quiet between us is almost too uncomfortable to handle. 

Finally, he speaks, “I guess.” His voice is mellow, like he's trying to tell me a secret in a room full of people. “I had dreams 'bout 'im. Sometimes I thought I heard 'im say my name.” Saying his name? I take that as a good sign, that maybe hearing your dead sibling talk to you is normal. As Daryl continues to talk, my hopes are dashed. “It went away, though, after awhile. Why are ya askin'?”

I want to tell him. I really do. I feel as though he's the only person in the entire world who isn't going to cringe away and question my sanity if I let him in, even though I'm questioning it myself. But, ultimately, I decide against it. “I just miss Adeline, is all.” 

“Yeah,” he grumbles, turning from me in a rigid step forward. “That's the part that doesn't go away.”

Daryl leads now, which is fine with me. Over fallen branches and piles of rocks and crunchy leaves, we meander through the forest, looking for and expecting absolutely nothing. I try to follow his footsteps to a tee, but his strides are much larger than mine. I end up placing a foot down between each of his. Every so often, I catch a whiff of his scent – musky and dirty, but not dirty as in body odor. More like the earth mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. Knowing full well the outcome of my last attempt at smoking, I find myself craving a cigarette of my own. 

“Are ya blamin' yourself for Beth?” This snaps me from my thoughts. Daryl keeps walking, his crossbow securely in his hands. I wait for him to look back on me, but he stares forward. “Is that why you're out here?”

At first, I can't figure out how the two subjects are related. Why would I want to wander out in the middle of the night in a forest just because I blame myself for Beth's death, which yes, as a matter of fact, I do? Then, her voice rings through my head, and it makes sense.

_“Rick found him outside the gates at the prison, without any weapons, just waiting for walkers. He had to wrestle with him to get him back inside.”_

“Yeah,” I answer, taking note of Adeline's laughter sounding off once again. This time, I know its near the church. “I just couldn't sleep, I guess. I didn't want to just sit there, either. So, here I am.” 

“It ain't your fault.”

“How so?”

“Because it's mine.”

I stop again, this time with my stomach churning. Daryl keeps going, either oblivious to the fact that he's leaving me behind or he just doesn't care that his words just threw me for a loop. “What did you just say?” I badger, raising my voice slightly so he can hear me. “It's _your_ fault she died?” 

In a way, I'd wanted someone to say it wasn't my fault. I'd just wanted to just hear it from someone else, to take a little of the load off my chest. I didn't, however, want that person to be Daryl, especially when I knew it wasn't true. How in the world could it have been his fault? 

Daryl finally comes to a stop, turns to face me, and nods his head slowly. “Yeah, it is,” he answers. “After the prison, we were together and...I just didn't get to her in time, when they took her.” For a moment, I'm relieved that he's letting his walls down with me again, but just as I ponder on it, he's too uncomfortable to continue his thought. “C'mon, let's hurry and kill something so you can go back.” He takes a step away from me.

“Just what was going on with you and Beth?” There it is. The magical question. The question that had been in the back of my mind since Beth let me know they were together. The question that only solidifies the fact that I need to learn to think before I open my mouth, because as Daryl approaches me, one foot seemingly taking minutes to fall after the other, I've never regret saying something so much in my entire life.

“The fuck are you getting at?” Daryl growls, standing only inches from me. Bowing his head to glower down at me, I can see his free hand curl into a fist at his side. I know he won't strike me, but I'm still scared shitless. “Look at me if you're gonna start accusin' me.”

I lift my head, meeting his eyes, which look only like black holes in the darkness. “I just...I wanted to know what happened between you two,” I manage to croak out. “Why are you so pissed right now?”

Daryl inhales to answer, but a rustle casts our conversation to the dust. In an instant, his crossbow is lifted and pointed toward the source, and my fingers curl around my fragile switchblade, ready to plunge into the skull at a moment's notice. A small-framed walker comes stumbling out toward us, only to trip over a fallen trunk and land face first into the dirt. With an annoyed sigh, Daryl drops his crossbow and motions toward the squirming creature. 

“You wanted to kill somethin',” he mutters. “Now's your chance.”

This isn't entirely how I wanted my killing to pan out, but beggars can't be choosers. I hurry over to the walker, kneel beside it, and force the blade through the skull just in time to avoid a grab at my ankle. With a final moan, the hand falls limp and I yank the switchblade from what's left of the brain. 

Before I even have the chance to stand up, Daryl is already trudging on back toward the church. “Wait!” I call out. He stops, but doesn't turn to face me. “Just a little longer? I want to kill a few more.” 

“Nah,” he replies, starting off once more. “You wanna stay out here? Fine. You're on your own.” 

I watch his shadow begin to disappear into the trees, trying my hardest to fend off the swirling regret and irritation in my gut. Without thinking – what's new at this point? – I hustle after him, slowing down only once I've reached his side. Daryl doesn't look at me. 

“I'm sorry,” I say after minutes of unbearable silence between us. “I shouldn't have asked about you and Beth. It isn't any of my business.” I want him to say that nothing had happened between them, just to put my mind at ease. Instead, the exact opposite comes from his mouth.

“You're right. It ain't.” 

I bite down hard on my lower lip as we wander on, back through the forest and onto the church. I hate myself for it, but I'm happy Beth is dead.


End file.
